


A Night With Mr Right

by cryptwarmer



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst and Porn, Awkward Romance, F/M, Found Poetry, Limericks, Missing Scene, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Role Reversal, Role-Playing Game, Sex, Shameless Smut, Spuffy Kinkathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 17:01:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 41,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9501155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptwarmer/pseuds/cryptwarmer
Summary: Buffy is feeling down. Spike is trying to feel nothing at all. They go out to dinner alone but a case of misunderstandings have them leaving together. Their accidental blind date turns into some interesting role playing and answers the question of just what do a vampire and a Slayer do during a five hour sexathon. It starts as fun, but there's no denying the feelings that arise when they allow themselves to connect. This is porn, but it's porn with a purpose, and lots of heart.





	1. A Night on the Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter is set up for the rest of the story, no smut, but it's a lot of cute fun!

A Night With Mr. Rright

 

Spike hadn’t exactly cleaned up at the poker table. He’d done well enough to strut, but not so well that he’d have to resort to fists and fangs to hold on to his winnings.

 

Spike enjoyed a good fight, but poor losers were worse fighters, they’d have four hold him down while a fifth took pot shots at him. That’s what passed for an honor code in the underworld.

 

For now, he had the hint of a buzz, a comfortable wad of cash and general good feelings all around. He preferred to leave on a high. He dipped his head in way of saying “Sayonara bitches” to the crowd at Willy’s.

 

The fresh, cool air was a pleasant change from the damp atmosphere of the poker den, heavy with the stink of demon’s sweat and breath. Spike had little urge to light up, yet his hands, out of sheer habit, felt through his pockets for his smokes and lighter before he realized he didn’t even want them.

 

So much of his life was habit, sometimes he went several days running, with no intentional thought at all. It was easier to run on autopilot, lately, it was definitely safer. He found life a lot less painful when he stuck to the script, especially around the Slayer.

 

Spike didn’t recall how it felt to love Buffy, he didn’t let himself. He knew he had felt it, and deeply, but it had devolved into such a stew of pain, humiliation, and bittersweet heat, that he’d forgotten where his love ended and her hatred began. It was better now, the way it was. She handed him the script, he read his lines and walked off stage left at the end of his scene. He didn’t see much of her these days, and he preferred it that way.

 

She was easier to admire from a distance, that was as far as he allowed it to go in his head. He held a deep admiration for her. He was still a male and still a vampire. He had a fair share of feelings about her body, that went beyond admiration and far into the realm of desire, but he’d managed to keep himself from getting mired in the swamp of throbbing need.

 

Spike had a method, and it worked quite nicely, he imagined Buffy’s head, on a different body. Buffy had a very nice body of her own, but it wasn’t voluptuous, it was tidy and strong and he wasn’t going to let himself think about it. Instead, he thought of fantasy Buffy, Buffy’s head, on a generic busty body. Very nice to think about, very safe. It was so clearly NOT her, that he didn’t have to feel much of anything about it at all.

 

Funny thing, the sexier the not Buffy body he imagined plunking Buffy’s head onto, the less alluring the entire package became. The bigger the tits, the curvier the hips, the...well...you get the picture. He was training himself away from Buffy, and from desiring her “that way”.

 

As he walked home, he let his mind go there, first dredging up a look he found very alluring...caramel latte skin, with a smattering of dark freckles. It was a gorgeous look on a woman, so different from the pale skin and orange freckles he’d been familiar with as a young man. This look was exotic and authentic all at once, not like a made up girl with airbrushed, pore-free skin. He found that frankly scary. Spike liked a woman who was comfortable in her skin. He liked a woman who wasn’t afraid to be touched because she was protecting her hair and makeup. 

 

Spike liked to touch his women all over before he made love to them. He liked to rub a thumb over the sheen on their forehead and bring it to their lips and spread the shine there. He loved to catch a drip of sweat from their upper lip and taste the sea salt flavor of them.

 

He loved those freckles, chocolate brown across their noses and the tops of their chests, and full, loose breasts that were soft, luscious handfuls. He loved to knead them, bury his face and lick the musky tang from between them. He had a body in mind, it was everything wonderful about a woman, and it wasn’t Buffy. Take away the proper head with its broad nose and amber eyes and plunk hers on top and it was such a disappointment that he found himself not wanting Buffy at all. She didn’t belong. It was a cheap form of aversion therapy. Buffy bad. He felt little desire until his mind brought back the girl’s proper head, with its lovely dark hair and teeth that showed when she smiled. Spike’s girl never forgot how to smile, and her smile was all for him.

 

Yes, that was better...Buffy bad...She took the joy out of things that were good. She never smiled at him with broad white teeth. Spike wanted to be kissed with abandon, by lips with no color on them. He wanted to feel a naked cheek slip past his own in sweaty passion.

 

Buffy’s body was a weapon. Her elbows were as sharp as stakes and the points of her shoulders prominent and bladelike. It wouldn’t have been lovely to have her, not really. He had decided, very sensibly, that fighting with Buffy was much more fun than anything else he might have considered doing with her. She was good fun to tease, and when she got properly angry with him her breathing and the color of her face were not unlike those of a woman when...He stopped and gathered his wits, he hadn’t been planning to go down that road of thinking.

 

He imagined a woman with caramel colored skin, and soft generous breasts. Good god, he deserved one. For all that he’d loved Dru, she was so sharp and thin, that sometimes it had been downright painful to roll over suddenly in bed.

 

………………………………..

 

You never really know a person. Buffy thought for the umpteenth time. She once again tried to gloss over the fact that it likely pertained to herself as well.

 

It wasn’t that all surprises were bad ones, but people DID surprise her. Willow had fallen in love with a woman. Xander, who Buffy felt confident had once wanted her, had dated Cordelia and now Anya! Riley had sunk to getting vamp suck jobs, and Spike claimed he was in love with her. People were just full of surprises. She had a few of her own, she liked to think they made her interesting, but some of them disturbed her.

 

For instance, there was the undeniable fact of her having fallen in love with a vampire. No one expected THAT from a Slayer. It was old news now. She still loved Angel, she guessed she always would, but she was over them as a couple. Maybe that was the shocking thing right there, that she had finally, and truly, gotten past it.

 

Things with Riley hadn’t worked out, but it had nothing to do with Angel, no matter what Riley’s insecurities had told him. She hadn’t held anything back, she hadn’t refused Riley any part of her heart. Angel was a period of her life she had passed through, it would always influence and inform her, but she was over it, and him and the two of them together.

 

Things with Riley had gotten tedious, they’d lost forward momentum. It had become the same discussion, the same argument, the same issues over and over until things weren’t fun anymore. That sounded so shallow. She hadn’t been with Riley only for a good time, she considered them a real couple. She had wanted them to be there for each other. Did that mean that it had to feel like work?

 

It didn’t seem like it should have become so demanding, so tiresome, so quickly. They weren’t a married couple trying to salvage 20 years of marriage, so why did she feel like a failure that it hadn’t worked out? Most relationships didn’t last forever, that’s what dating was for, to give yourself time to face a few things together and see if you made a good team.

 

Everything went to hell when instead of choosing strategies, they’d begun choosing sides. As gross and stupid as it was that Riley was getting suck jobs from vampires, what was stupider still was his reason...Buffy didn’t need him enough. He’d said he wanted to know what it was like to be NEEDED.

 

Buffy couldn’t relate to what it felt like to want to be needed. She would give a lot, for the opportunity to go a day where she didn’t felt like the whole damn world NEEDED her. All she wanted was a vacation, and she was supposed to feel sorry for him because no one was whining for him to save them?

 

Riley liked being a hero, and it had been easy in his line of work. He was proud of himself for taking down two handfuls and some change worth of demons. She would have been more impressed if he’d had the awareness to see what she was going through and realized that sometimes people need what they need, and not just what you want to give them.

 

She needed the damn oil changed in her car, and the lawn mowed, but that wasn’t heroic enough for Riley. What did he expect of her? Did he think she had the luxury, let alone personality, to fall for a guy in such a way that she needed him the way she needed oxygen?

 

Did Riley want her to believe that she couldn’t live a day without him? She’d once felt like that about Angel. Now Buffy knew better. You lose people, and you adjust, sometimes against your very will, you adjust. She’d lost Angel, she’d lost her mother, often she felt she was losing her mind, but life went on.

 

She couldn’t need Riley the way he wanted to be needed. It was really too bad, she thought with a smirk, that she wasn’t into blood play. She’d let Angel feed off her. Would that have convinced Riley? Open a vein for me baby, and I’ll suck you dry...No thanks, she’d stick to blow jobs.

 

6 months later the oil in her car STILL needed to be changed. needed, not wanted, not preferred, needed to be changed. Why hadn’t Riley addressed that? Instead, he had left her bed to get what HE needed.

 

Buffy couldn’t totally fault him there, she knew what it was to be left unsatisfied and antsy in her own skin. She’d often crept out into the night to Slay. Could you equate Slaying with getting a suck job? What was the issue here, motive or means? They’d both felt unsatisfied and went seeking other stimuli, but surely the type of stimuli made a difference. Surely staking vampires was better than FEEDING them.

 

Funny how Riley’s feeling inadequate left BUFFY feeling inadequate. There had been no hope for them, not once they’d started the dynamic that sent their relationship into a death spiral. There were two things guaranteed to kill a relationship, when you started asking “who’s better” and when you started asking “who’s worse”.

 

Riley was gone now, one less Needy Neederson in her overwhelming life.

 

There was something she needed now, something very ordinary, yet surprisingly spectacular, that Riley could have provided. Sex. No Riley, I don’t need to suck your blood or have you usurp my role as Slayer, but how about you take my car to the shop and while we’re waiting you crank out a few red-blooded orgasms?

 

Hey, Soldier, I need you to go a little longer, a little harder, a little slower, a little faster. I need you to hold that note until I tell you to let it go. But, that hadn’t been enough. That was a kick in the ego; he left their bed to get suck jobs from vamps. Guess she hadn’t needed him enough in bed either. Well, she could have used him now. He could have been her own personal scratching post.

 

It irritated her beyond reason, the way Anya insisted on talking about her and Xander’s sex life. You get laid a lot, we get it, OK, you can shut up now. Did Anya think that ANY of them were impressed when she, “oops”, accidentally mentioned their toys or role playing? Anya knew exactly what she was doing, she wasn’t born yesterday. She’d spent 1000 years listening to women complain about men, yet somehow in there she never picked up the least idea about sex etiquette?

 

Yes, good for you Anya, Xander gives you lots of nice orgasms and lets you spank him while he’s dressed as a soldier from the French Foreign Legion. Whoop de do!

 

Buffy hadn’t ever gotten into role playing. She hadn’t really thought of any roles that it would be titillating to play. She wasn’t turned on by pirates, nurses took blood and gave shots, how in the hell did ANYONE find THAT sexy? She guessed at least French maids carried feather dusters and that could be a pleasant “prop”.

 

The idea of dressing up as an underage school girl squicked her out. She didn’t want to pretend to fuck her way out of a speeding ticket, or get rescued by a fireman and then admire his “hose”. Maybe she was too white bread, but none of those things got her hot and bothered.

 

OK, so it was kind of weird that kicking the shit out of an animated corpse got her juices flowing, but that was just a physiological anomaly. Adrenaline led to increased heart rate, dilated blood vessels led to increased blood flow, which led to female erection, YES, it’s a thing, which made the horny vibe vibrate. It was that simple. Nothing about vampires was sexy, it was just the adrenaline and nothing more.

 

If she was on a volleyball team she’d probably feel just as horny after playing a close match. Willow used to get sort of a flushed face back in high school when instead of multiple guess, a test turned out to be essay questions. She didn’t find taking tests sexy, she just found them stimulating. It wasn’t the same thing.

 

Still, the idea of sexy role playing was diverting to think about when Buffy was in the car pick up lane waiting for Dawn after school. She imagined the guy at the nail shop, giving her the deluxe pedicure and working his way further up her leg after the foot and calf massage. That could be...pleasant.

 

Or, thinking of oil changes, the mechanic might ask her to come over and look at the condition of her air filter, and while she was bent over the engine...he might bump into her…Nah..

 

Ooh, she had one! She would be in a very nice restaurant...and her date didn’t show up, but the very hot male waiter kept bringing her plates of appetizers, on the house. He’d be dressed in black pants, shirt and tie the way they did at that new trendy place downtown.

 

She would have thought that look was overdone, but it worked. They looked sharp and more chic than they would in white shirts and bow ties. She liked the way their slightly shiny black ties hung down their fronts. She could grab that tie, and use it to pull him close…

 

Maybe she could get a little kink going after all! Of course, it involved food. Why shouldn’t it? How was food NOT sexier than hypodermic syringes, feather dusters, and handcuffs? She didn’t want to be spanked at the end of the day. She wanted a hot guy to offer her sushi, dim sum, oysters, and anything else delectable that he could, very sexily, pop into her mouth and she could feel sliding down her throat. And she ALWAYS left room for dessert!

 

Yup, she was really liking this idea of a sexy man in black who was focusing all his attention on satiating her hunger. She got hot just thinking about it and she hadn’t even figured out how to get from what was being placed on top of the table, to what was hiding under it.

 

In her mind, of course, she’d already slipped out of her high heels, and could feel the thick pile of the carpet beneath her feet, but how could she get the waiter’s hands to dip below...Ooops! I’m SO sorry madam. It seems I’ve dropped a crumb down your front, let me get that for you...with my tongue. Here, let me spread your napkin on your lap. His hand would brush her thigh…

 

The idea of doing something in public, and getting away with it, was kind of fun. She liked the possibility that the waiter’s fingers might brush hers when he handed her the menu or the heels of his hands might press against her shoulders while he pushed in her chair.

 

She imagined a faint smell of smoke on him because he’d just come in from his smoking break, where he’d been telling another waiter about the hot lady at table 9 and what he’d thought of doing with her.

 

Dawn broke her reverie by yanking open the car door. “Can we get take out? I know it’s my night to cook, but I have this project….”

 

Buffy’s fantasy deflated. Take out. Worn Formica countertops, a guy in a greasy T-shirt wearing a dirty apron, talking on one of those old phones and scribbling on an order pad. No hot waiter with his leather pad, and leather covered menu, and secret smile just for her. Take out, a definite mood killer.

 

Little sisters were perhaps the most effective mood killer of all. Seriously, Buffy had no idea how second children, let alone third, fourth and so on, were even conceived. How could anyone have sex with a kid in the house? She couldn’t even find the time and presence of mind to have a sexual fantasy and Dawn was 15.

 

Buffy was being a tad dramatic. Dawn usually slept over at a friend’s house a couple nights a month, and she locked herself in her bedroom with music playing more nights than not, but still…

 

Buffy pulled into traffic, Dawn turned on the stereo. Patience was what Buffy needed.

 

…………………………

 

Angel had always made fun of Spike for, among other things, his taste for human food, drink...well, human everything. Angelus would have happily ended the world, Spike would happily partake of its pleasures, and why the hell not?

 

Evil didn’t have to equal pain and misery...sod that. Humans provided plenty of delights to partake of beyond the most obvious one, blood. Angel drank coffee, though Spike couldn’t understand why. It was bitter and disgusting, and stained the teeth...well, ok, so did smoking, but still. Why waste your time on coffee, when there were whiskey and chips, and basically anything Italian?

 

Angel was in his head too much. For some reason, he thought nothing worth note, took place below the neck. Spike knew better. He didn’t know what Buffy had ever seen in his grandsire, though to be honest, she was a bit of a buzz kill herself. Funny thing that...Buffy enjoyed dancing, and food, and fighting. She definitely partook of the world below the neck, after all, Angelus had lost his soul by playing below the belt, so why did she hide behind a holier than thou attitude?

 

Where did she get off calling Spike a pig just because he didn’t hide his interest in all the things that made life worth...coming back as an undead demon for? Buffy was a bloody hypocrite. He got it; Slayer had to put on a moral front. He knew about dressing the part and what not, but why keep up the ruse when she was with her friends?

 

OK, so Spike wasn’t exactly a friend, but he was around enough that she didn’t need to bother posturing for his sake. She made no bones about how little he, and his opinions, mattered to her. If that was true why did she bother to refute him about anything at all?

 

Because she was a bloody hypocrite! No woman who made THAT face, bordering on orgasm, at the first bite of a mushroom and sausage pizza, was a stranger to sensuality. He KNEW that look. He’d seen her eye a donut with a smoky desire that nearly made him blush.

 

She’d driven him nearly out of his brain (and jeans) with distraction once when they were gathered at the Magic Box and she had picked up a raven’s feather and kept drawing it back and forth across her wrist as the meeting progressed. He hadn’t missed the way the gooseflesh rose on her arm in response to the feather’s light touch.

 

Then there were her clothes, filmy blouses and skirts that slipped over her skin like kisses, leather that creaked and groaned when she fought, fuzzy sweaters, silky underthings. She was no stranger to the sensual, yet she called him a pig? If he was a pig (and he might well be) she was a tease.

 

Maybe she teased herself as well. Maybe she got off on getting herself all worked up and then not taking her pleasure. She might be that type. God help her boyfriends, she probably did it to them too. Maybe Riley had needed those suck jobs to cure a chronic case of blue balls.

 

Spike didn’t believe it was true, but it was better to tell himself that than that Buffy was a closet sensualist, who could rock her naughty with the best of them. Boring Buffy, dull Buffy, Blue Ball Buffy. Buffy’s head on the wizened body of someone’s spinster aunt who had too many cats and bad taste in television drama. That’s who Buffy was.

 

And her hair was stupid.

 

Spike appreciated nice things. He enjoyed elegant things, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it. He’d made the lair of his crypt quite posh, and kept it that way long after Harmony was out of the picture. Why should only women have luxurious things? He bloody loved his high thread count sheets, satin comforter, rich carpets and down pillows. If he was going to have to put up with all the shit this world had to offer, you could be damn certain he was going to surround himself with the nicest things he could pinch, nick or twist.

 

One damn, fine thing about being a vampire, was he never needed to use rubbers. EVER. No blasted condoms. He pitied all the mere human chaps who had to keep it under wraps. He poured a drink in their honor. If there were no other perks of being a vampire, that alone might be enough to get turned. He’d tried condoms, just to see, and they were...the devil’s work is what they were. You get a pretty bird to take her pants off and then you have to put a damned glove over your prick? No wonder so many human men needed viagra.

 

No doubt about it, down townSpike needed to get L. A. I. D. He’d make some girl happy to be alive because he was no slouch, he gave as good as he got. He’d been called a narcissist but a woman could do worse than have a partner who got off by proving his talents in bed. His vampire senses helped. He could sense every change in heart rate and blood temperature, he could catch the faintest sigh and catch of a partner’s breath, and he put it all to work for both of their favors. Yeah, that’s right, Miss High and Mighty, find a pig who could do THAT?

 

He wondered if the Slayer ever got off. Maybe that was why she was so uptight? What if all that strength and stamina worked against her and she was never able to find a man who could go hard enough, and long enough to give her a Slayer level orgasm. Poor girl…

 

All those thoughts of sex made him hungry for real food, for good food...Italian food...an orgy of flavors and textures in his mouth. There was a new fusion redowntown. It was pricey but Spike was more than flush from poker and pool.

 

What would make it marvelous, what would make it perfect, was if he could end the night with a beautiful, or better yet BOUNTIFUL woman in his bed. He would make that bird sing.

 

…………………………

 

Buffy was literally banging her head against the wall. Had she been this annoying at 15? Was it possible for any human to be THIS annoying, no matter what their age? Dawn was supernaturally annoying. Game night, originally dreamed up to provide a faux family feeling, made Buffy want to tear throats out.

 

At 15 she’d been busy burning down school gyms and fighting very old, very bad vampires, but here was Dawn having a screaming match with Anya over the sale of black market babies in the Game of Life.

 

“Why can’t we just play monopoly where everything is legal as long as it brings in money?” Anya complained. Buffy hadn’t realized that was true in Monopoly but apparently, Anya played by gangland rules where basically, anything goes and off board deals with other players were encouraged, as was drug trafficking, slave labor, and buying senators, which meant you no longer had to pay taxes. Anya didn’t understand why the same rules couldn’t be applied to the Game of Life. Apparently, she felt the game was stacked against people of the formerly demonic and currently capitalistic bent.

 

Anya was Anya, Buffy had learned to deal, but why did Dawn have to take the bait? And why did the current topic of heated debate have to be based on something they were discussing in Dawn’s social issues class?

 

Buffy guessed it was good that Dawn was passionate about something other than boys and rebellion, but Dawn had broken the sound barrier several minutes back and every glass and window in the house were on the verge of shattering at the high-frequency assault.

 

God help her, Buffy nearly shook Xander and told him he’d better learn to control his woman. No wonder Xander and Anya did so much role playing, how could Xander possibly get turned on by Anya the way she was?

 

Buffy felt tingles on the back of her neck, but they weren’t due to the presence of a vampire. Her hair follicles, like the glasses, were now vibrating in resonance with Dawn’s high pitched diatribe. This had to be evil right? That sound couldn’t be of the good, couldn’t even be natural. What the hell had the monks been thinking?

 

Even Dawn looked a little frightened by the sounds coming out of her mouth. Xander had his hands over his ears and Buffy did the only thing she could think of. She grabbed a couch pillow, tackled her sister and put the pillow over her face. She held it down with all her Slayer strength, sobbing with relief as her sister’s body went limp beneath her.

 

OMG, what had she done? Buffy “came to”. She hadn’t tackled OR smothered her sister. She had banged her head with enough force to bring on that hallucination, and with enough force to put a head sized dent in the wall, and bring the rest of the assemblage to silence. Dawn was shrieking no more.

 

“Buffy, are you OK?” Dawn asked in a perfectly normal if slightly wigged out, tone.

 

Buffy looked at her sister, and her friends, and the wall. “I rather think not,” she said, before bursting into giggles. She went upstairs, not hanging around long enough to hear Anya’s inevitable, “Buffy needs to get laid” comment.

 

She didn’t disagree with Anya, but she’d rather not face the embarrassment of hearing how obvious it was to her friends and sister. At this point, Buffy was fairly certain getting laid wasn’t going to fix anything. She was thinking it might take getting thrown against a wall and jackhammered until her teeth rattled, then held upside down and suckled until she screamed, followed by sex so energetic that the juices, that were the inevitable consequence of the previous behavior, ended up splattered all over the walls and ceiling. Just getting laid wasn’t going to cut it.

 

 

…………………….

 

Spike smiled to himself as he dressed. Dru had been a funny one, she never cared for restaurants, at least not until they’d slaughtered all the patrons so they could have a bit of privacy. Spike had always enjoyed people watching, and making heads turn. He was GOING to dinner alone, but he had no intention of leaving the restaurant without dessert hanging on his arm.

 

…………………………………

 

Buffy shipped Dawn off to Janice’s for the night and took the plunge, her first shot at the fine art of role playing. She knew it was a little crazy and a LOT unethical, but, it wasn’t really hurting anyone. She was going to go to that Italian fusion restaurant, under the guise of waiting for a blind date. She’d flirt like mad with the hottest of the waiters and see if she could get them to ply her with food and then let her off without paying because she’d been “stood up”. Maybe they’d feel SO sorry for her that she’d get more than a free meal.

 

If she didn’t, well, she’d just have to wash dishes, or cry, or use the grocery money for the next two weeks to pay for her folly. She was fully prepared to break into tears if would help her cause.

 

She dressed for a date, the kind of date that would end in bed if things went right. Not that Buffy had made up her mind yet whether or not her blindest of dates would end in bed. Even if she got her meal comped, she wasn’t stupid enough to go home with any old Liam, Parker or Riley she happened to meet. BUT she wasn’t counting it out either.

 

The best roleplay, no doubt, was deliciously open-ended. She pulled her hair into a bun just messy enough to put the idea of a roll in bed, into a handsome waiter’s head and donned earrings just dangly enough to call attention to the curve of her cheek and her bare neck. She spritzed on the tiniest hint of perfume, so light that a man would have to get VERY close to make sure the intoxicating scent was coming from her. She was ready for action, right down to the mini sized stake she tucked into her very small purse.

 

……………….

 

“Reservation for Wright.” She smiled at the host when she stepped into the bistro. Goosebumps rose on her arms, it was quite cold inside and she hadn’t brought a shawl.

 

“Party of two?” The host looked at the empty space beside her. “Is your companion?"

 

“Oh, I’m meeting him here. Blind date.” She rolled her eyes for effect. “I thought he might be here already.” Buffy let her eyes roam over the room, focusing on the wait staff, not the tables.

 

“Oh, of course.” The host smiled pleasantly. He seated her and asked if she cared to order a drink or did she prefer to wait for her date. His hands brushed ever so slightly against her shoulder as he pushed in her chair.

 

“Oh, I think I’d like a glass of…” She changed her mind. “A cocktail, do you have a house special?”

 

Staff liked when you ordered the house special, it let them know you weren’t going to be a pain in the ass customer who was going to demand special treatment. She needed to stay sweet, accommodating and after 20 minutes or so went by...mildly pitiful.

 

The host beamed at her called to a waiter (who was quite attractive) and assured Buffy she would be well taken care of. That was precisely what she’d wanted to hear.

 

……………………….

 

Spike didn’t bother with reservations. He was a vampire. They didn’t have personal reservations and they didn’t make public ones. He’d get a table. He’d get anything he damn pleased. The thought made him smile.

 

He hadn’t strayed from his usual dark ensemble, he’d just upscaled it to fit his plans for the evening ahead. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, and the ladies always responded to the look. His concession to fashion was a shirt in a shade of plum so deep that it was nearly black, and a tie a half shade lighter.

 

He had to look reasonably respectable because, alas, he wouldn’t be taking a woman back to his crypt. He saved that dubious honor for the drunk girls he picked up (sometimes literally) outside the Bronze. No, he was fishing for a date that would take his handsome, well clad, ass back to her place. He frowned just a tiny bit. That would necessitate dashing out before dawn, which he personally found tacky, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that. You didn’t take a lady to a crypt, and he was only seeking a night of fun, not a commitment.

 

There weren’t many downsides to being a vampire, not in his mind, but one of them was having to leave without breakfast. Back in the day, after a nice morning romp, he’d enjoyed having his date FOR breakfast. That was no longer an option, so he’d better make the evening a good one.

 

“Is my table ready?” was his greeting to the host.

 

“Your name?”

 

“Williams.”

 

“I’m sorry sir I don’t see….”

 

Of course, he’d anticipated as much. He preferred not to have to flash his fangs, and he had a script prepared.

 

“Are you meeting anyone?” the host checked. A perfectly reasonable question, as most people didn’t show up alone.

 

“Yes, actually.”

 

After another minute or two of dither and mention of mix-ups, and crossed wires, Spike told them, cordially, that he was willing to sit at the bar for the few minutes, emphasis on few, that it would take them to sort out their mistake.

 

Of course Mr. Williams.

 

He preferred the bar because it gave an excellent view of both the restaurant floor AND the door, easy to scout for a potential partner.

 

He ordered a drink, and let his eyes flitter around the bistro, while he waited for the bartender to prepare it. Who did his stunned and stunning blue eyes fall on, but the Slayer herself, sitting all alone at a table for two.

 

It took only a second to tell that her companion had not yet arrived. He hadn’t escaped to the little boy's room, the chair opposite hers was pushed up tight to the table, and she didn’t have a menu. Her eyes were surreptitiously wandering around the room, but not at the tables, she seemed to be looking at the waiters. Well, that was odd. Well, maybe not odd, she was probably hungry. Spike checked the time, it was 12 minutes past the hour, either her date was late or she was early. That mystery would be cleared up in less than five minutes.

 

A waiter approached her, but Buffy’s eyes flitted past him to another waiter, bending over the table to the right.

 

“Miss?”

 

“Yes?” Buffy said, batting her eyelashes just a tiny bit.

 

“I know your party hasn’t arrived, but it you’d like an appetizer or another drink while you wait.”

 

Buffy hadn’t finished her first drink, but she knew the waiter was trying to be kind AND, to make sure that he wasn’t going to end up stiffed, by having one of his tables taken by a non-paying customer. Buffy hadn’t thought of THAT angle, someone was going to be going home with less money in their pocket as the result of her experiment. She felt a twinge of guilt.

 

“Maybe an appetizer…” she said vaguely, looking towards the door as if he might walk in at any moment.

 

“I could bring you a menu.”

 

“Is there a chef’s choice tonight?” She smiled at him prettily, even though he wasn’t the one she’d set her sights on, he was the one she’d have to charm first.

 

“We have an antipasto fusion platter featuring--”

 

“That sounds delightful!” That was a word she’d always wanted to use but it NEVER fit into any discussion. He smiled politely and headed towards the kitchen.

 

Spike watched and listened to the little exchange with rapt interest. So, she was waiting on someone, someone who was already expected to have arrived but had not.

 

Buffy gave a slight shiver, no wonder, she was showing a lot of skin. She didn’t look slutty, not in the least, but her filmy champagne colored top wasn’t designed for warmth, though the sight of her in it was likely to raise a man’s temperature a degree or three.

 

She mixed her drink with the cocktail straw and sipped the last of it. She set the glass down and tapped her fingernails on the thick linen table cloth as she checked out the other waiters. She saw one she liked the looks of very much, and he seemed quite accommodating, but he also seemed quite focused on his party of 7, who would no doubt leave a hefty tip. She would have a hard time getting his attention.

 

Spike followed Buffy’s eyes. If she was indeed waiting for someone, why weren’t her eyes fixed on the door? In fact, they barely strayed towards the door at all.

 

Spike hailed the bartender and asked which wine he suggested to accompany the chef’s antipasto platter. “Could you have one brought to the lady seated there?” He made a vague motion towards Buffy. He didn’t need to be obvious, she was the only person in the entire place who was dining alone.

 

Spike laid three twenty dollar bills on the bar, he’d keep an open tab. The bartender noted the bills and reached for a pricier bottle than he had been going for before Spike pulled out cash.

 

“Tell her it’s on the house,” Spike said to the waiter that arrived to deliver the wine.

 

“You’re sure?” It didn’t make sense that he wouldn’t want to be acknowledged. Spike gave a slight nod.

 

He watched as Buffy showed surprise, but delighted surprise, at the arrival of the drink, and her appetizer.

 

Part of her surprise was that the waiter, who’d been pressed into service to deliver the wine, was the one she’d been eyeing since she came in. She touched his wrist lightly as he set the glass in front of her. Her ACTUAL waiter shot the other a perfectly poisonous look. Spike smiled. Go, Slayer! Playing the two boys off of one another. He was impressed. He wondered what her game was.

 

He looked to the host’s stand, where they still hadn’t gotten a table sorted out for him. He was thinking maybe he didn’t want a table after all. He was rather enjoying this. He motioned to the waiter, who was now returning to pick up drinks for his actual table.

 

He slid a tenner towards him. “Take care that the lady doesn’t go without.”

 

The young man took the bill even as he was saying “I’m not really her server.”

 

“But you could keep an eye on her."

 

The waiter looked confused. His eyes automatically scanned the room for Buffy’s assigned server, who was already peeved at the attention “Scott”, as his nametag read, was getting from the pretty blonde. After all, her server looked like he would get stood up too if her date didn’t arrive soon. He wouldn’t like that Scott was already taking money to tend to his guest.

 

“Tell the host I’d like to speak with him,” Spike said, almost as an afterthought.

 

The boy, he was a boy in Spike’s mind, nodded nervously and motioned to the host.

 

“I see you’re busy, and that there’s been a problem with my table. If you’ll serve me dinner at the bar,” Spike said to the harried host.

 

“Of course, no problem at all. Will someone be joining you?” the host asked.

 

Spike’s eyes roved towards Buffy, “Not sure mate, it was sort of a blind date.”

 

“Are you Mr. Wright?” The host looked confused. Spike had told him the name was Williams.

 

Ah, so Buffy was waiting for Mr. Wright!

 

The clock read 21 minutes past the hour. Looked like the Slayer had been stood up. What sort of poncy fool would do such a thing? She was bloody gorgeous, not Spike’s type, but still…

 

Funny though, she wasn’t acting the way a bird did when they got stood up. She didn’t look nervous, or sad, or anxious. She was enjoying her food AND the wine, and curiously not glancing towards the door at all.

 

Maybe it was a stake out. Funny place for one, and rather obvious, if she was trying to blend in. A woman at a restaurant like this, all alone, was anything but ordinary.

 

“William Wright.” Spike heard himself say.

 

“Oh, of course, that would be your dinner companion. She’s been waiting.” The host motioned for Spike to transfer to the table.

 

“That’s her?” He hesitated, as if suddenly uncertain. “It’s a blind date,” he repeated, eyeing Buffy.

 

The host looked over at the woman seated alone, she was attractive, he couldn’t imagine why Spike would hesitate to join her.

 

“She’s been waiting a rather long time, sir.”

 

“A bit nervous is all,” Spike said, suddenly acting flustered. The bartender cocked an eyebrow. This was not the man who had coolly ordered a very expensive glass of wine for the stunner at table 9.

 

“Bird like that…” Spike shook his head. “Makes a blokes mouth go dry.” He motioned to the bartender to refill his glass. “She might not like me.” Spike’s grin upon saying that was 100% authentic. Truer words had never been spoken. He’d hate to ruin her night, yet. It was still early and he was still curious as to what her game was.

 

“Listen, I need another glass or two of courage before I go down there. Tell her to go ahead and order, that her date called saying he’d be late. Put it on my bill.”

 

The host clearly thought Spike was a sad excuse for a man, standing a woman up from 20 ft away was bad form, but at least it would end up being a paying table.

 

Spike watched as the host approached Buffy’s table. Just as Buffy looked up, Spike turned his back and ran a hand up over the back of his head to hide at least part of his shocking white hair, in case she happened to look over his way.

 

Buffy was deeply puzzled. So, her “date” had called saying he’d be LATE? This was extremely convenient, and since they were pressing her to order, they could hardly blame her later when Mr. Wright didn’t materialize to pay the bill. Could it be that they felt sorry for her and were making excuses for her cad of a date, trying to spare her feelings? First the house wine, which was damn good, much better than she’d have expected, and now this.

 

Even if she didn’t get laid, the night was going quite well, and the food was amazing. Now she was going to get dinner out of it one way or another, and seriously, the food and wine here were SO good that they made a better companion than most dates would have. Especially BLIND dates.

 

Who knew role playing all by herself was going to be THIS much fun? No way could naughty nurse Nancy and a sponge bath, or fireman Fred with his massive hose, be better than good food and wine with assorted eye candy passing by. She sipped her wine and smiled. It would be very easy, she thought, for her to reach out towards Scott one of these times when he passed by, and, accidentally (of course) touch his…

 

“Your menu.” Her waiter appeared at her side.

 

“Do you have any recommendations?” He hadn’t steered her wrong so far!

 

Her waiter was puzzled at how good her spirits were, considering she’d been sitting alone for going on half an hour. If she was the least bit concerned that her date wasn’t going to show up, you’d never know it.

 

Meanwhile, the bartender came and stood before Spike. He knew bullshit when he heard it, and he could read people. He was pretty sure that this wasn’t just a blind date set up and, he knew Spike wasn’t afraid to face this, or any other, lady.

 

“You know her.” It wasn’t a question. The bartender bent his head in Buffy’s direction.

 

Spike could read people too and knew it didn’t much matter what the game was to the barkeep, as long as the tab was open and the tips were generous.

 

“Yes, I do,” Spike said with a smile. “You might say she’s a very special lady.”

 

“If she’s so special, why is she down there and you’re up here?”

 

“She’s...tricky. Sometimes we play a bit of a game of cat and mouse.” Spike took in a long breath and released it just as slowly. He wasn’t lying.

 

“Oh.” The bartender nodded. “It’s like that. Role playing?.”

 

Role playing. Spike let the idea sink in. People played at all manner of things, including missed connections, sounded like a bit of a lark. Spike knew HE was role playing, but he wondered what Buffy was about.

 

“Yeah, like that. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep it fresh.” He jerked his head towards Buffy. “For the lady, keep it in character.” He raised his brows and gave a slight tilt of his head.

 

The bartender nodded. “I’ll talk to the boys.” He motioned to the waiters.

 

“I promise I’ll take care of them.” Spike glanced at the bills he’d laid on the bar. They understood one another perfectly.

 

The bartender handed Spike a menu and filled in the waiters, smoothing ruffled feathers. They were both to show the lady in question some attention and would be rewarded, and they weren’t to let on that they knew about the game.

 

“Bring her another glass of wine with her meal,” Spike said as he placed his own order. He always wondered what Buffy would do under the influence. Not that he’d take advantage of her. Not that he could. Even drunk he was quite certain she could dust him in a heartbeat, and he was equally certain that somewhere, in her very attractive ensemble, she was equipped to deal with his sort. His Slayer never went out unarmed.

 

In a very short time, both Buffy and Spike were enjoying their meals. The food was excellent. So good, that the woman who had clearly been stood up, didn’t notice the lack of companion at all. Then again, she was hardly lonely with the attention of two attractive waiters. It was really shocking that she was getting more attention, seated by herself, than the larger parties.

 

Spike made certain to keep her waiters well compensated.

 

“So what do you have planned for dessert?” The bartender wondered. He’d seen games before, they were more common than people realized. He thought this one was well played, though rather extreme if you asked him. He’d rarely seen the couples avoid each other for the entirety of a meal.

 

“Whatever the lady pleases,” was Spike’s diplomatic reply.

 

The bartender chuckled. Spike thought the man would find it even odder when Buffy walked out alone and Spike stayed on to enjoy another drink or three.

 

The waiter came over and asked Spike if he had any further instructions regarding the pretty lady at table 9. “Let her have whatever she wants.”

 

The young man scowled. “What she wants is HIM.” He jerked a thumb towards Scott, who was saying his goodnights to his table of seven.

 

“How much would it cost to have him put on the menu?” Spike was joking. He wasn’t made of money and he had no intention of buying Buffy a boy toy, but if the young man had any sense, he’d claim he felt a migraine coming on and he’d take Buffy up on the shameless flirting she’d been pumping in his direction.

 

She was adorable. Spike had never seen her like this, free, happy...playful. That’s it, she was playful. Mischief had a way of putting sparkle into a person’s eyes, and Buffy Summers was a young woman who was clearly enjoying being her mischievous self.

 

Still, he had to wonder what angle was she playing? She seemed to have accepted the story that her date was late. By now, it was obvious her “date” wasn’t showing up at all, yet she showed no signs of sadness and no worry whatsoever about who was picking up the bill.

 

The waiters were clearing her table. She might have an after dinner coffee or a digestivo, but things were drawing to a close

 

Buffy began to feel the first pang of worry when the waiter asked her if there would be anything else. If she said yes, the game would go on just a little longer, if she said no, it was time to face the music or the sink piled high with dirty dishes.

 

She ordered an espresso and decided she wouldn’t make any decision until the caffeine cleared her head a bit. Scott came by to check on her, smiling at her, not only sweetly, but KNOWINGLY. That could be a good thing, right? Maybe he had taken note of her, oh so obvious, flirting and decided he was interested. He was terribly cute...but.

 

But, she wasn’t going home with a waiter. She didn’t need an espresso to determine that. He was adorable, and it had been fun to flirt with him, but he was a stranger. She didn’t want the evening to end just yet, but better to end early, than badly.

 

She hadn’t quite completed her fantasy. Buffy slipped out of her shoes, rubbed the soles of her feet on the thick carpet, and smiled like a contented cat.

 

Spike caught that smile. He also caught sight of one of her shoes as it fell sideways out from under her table. She really was bloody adorable.

 

She was likely bloody tipsy as well, and in no condition to drive, so he would be leaving at the same time as her, if not actually with her.

 

Friends don’t let friends drive drunk and what not, nor do they let pretty women stumble into the street alone. Seeing as he was the reason for her tipsy, having sent that wine her way, it would be irresponsible of him to not see her safely home, one way or another.

 

She wouldn’t count him as a friend, but they were hardly enemies at this point, and they’d had too much face time to consider each other mere acquaintances. Tonight, they were both engaged in some sort of role play, so they could be whatever they bloody wanted to be.

 

Spike watched her drink her coffee, her eyes closed, her toesies buried in the rug. He motioned for the waiter to bring the check. He was cutting Buffy off, just in case she was inclined to push for an after dinner drink. Tab was closed. He paid the bill and tipped the boys, he’d already seen to the barkeep.

 

“So?” the bartender said.

 

“That’s it mate.” Spike gave him a shrug. “Bit of an odd game...me and her.”

 

“This is one for the books. You’re going to see her later, right?”

 

Spike gave a chuckle. “I highly doubt that.”

 

“You bought her dinner and you don’t get so much as a hello?”

 

“Like I said, odd game.”

 

The bartender poured Spike a shot, “On the house.” Clearly, he thought he was dealing with either a madman or a sap.

 

Spike drank the shot and watched the confrontation at the table. The waiter assured her there was no charge, it was all taken care of. Buffy tried to press a bill into his hand as a tip. He refused (Spike was impressed) assuring her that the tip also had been taken care of. This was the first sign Spike saw, of discomposure, in his Slayer.

 

She can’t have been displeased that the bill was covered, but something was bothering her.

 

……………..

 

Something wasn’t right. Buffy had started the game, she’d played the game, and enjoyed it. She was even following through by giving an apologetic, thank you for the lovely meal, but the man wouldn’t even accept a tip? Red flag! Who doesn’t accept a tip?

 

No one, that’s who, especially wait people. Accepting tips is what they do. It’s the job. If this guy didn’t want the tip, what DID he want? She had already decided that he wasn’t getting anything else out of her. Well, maybe her phone number….

 

“No, really ma’am, it’s been a pleasure,” he assured her with a smile.

 

“Don’t be silly. You gave great service, I mean, I’m the one who got stood up, not you.”

 

The waiters exchanged a glance. Something felt off. What was that look? It didn’t look like pity. It looked conspiratorial. It was a look she didn’t like, not one teeny bit.

 

Neither of the young men had time to argue with her, they had other customers. So, with a smirk, she slapped a $20 bill on the table and teetered to her feet.

 

The men exchanged the same look again. “No, really, we can’t take your money,” Scott said to her, with an edge to his tone. It wasn’t a threat, but it was clear he meant business. “Truly, it was my pleasure to serve you tonight, lovely lady. The man who missed his chance with you, is a fool.”

 

She liked the sound of that.

 

Buffy smiled at him, but she didn’t take back the bill. She ducked down to retrieve her shoe and the waiter motioned for the host. “Please, tell this lady her money’s no good tonight. She owes us nothing.” He cast a quick glance towards Spike. He had decided to side with the man, who looked like he could get right nasty if he were crossed. Spike had been nothing but manners all evening, but there was something about him that suggested he was not to be messed with.

 

“He’s right, tonight it’s been our pleasure to serve you. Have a lovely evening.” The host began to lead her towards the door while the waiter pressed the bill back into her hand. Buffy wouldn’t take it.

 

Enough was enough! Game over! Thanks, but no thanks. She was starting to get very peeved. In fact, she wanted to end this whole thing. This wasn’t what she’d expected. She would pay the bill, the entire bill. Her playful mood was starting to crumble.

 

Spike saw it all unraveling. Worst of all, he saw Buffy’s expression change from satisfied to annoyed and that was NEVER a good thing.

 

“Looks like the game’s over,” he said to the bartender. He’d probably get a thrashing for it, but he needed to take care of this.

 

He got off of the bar stool, the host, who had been shooting furtive glances his way, beamed with relief.

 

“Ms. Summers.” Spike bowed his head cordially at Buffy, who looked confused as all get out. “So sorry I’m late, but don’t bother yourself about the bill, it’s all been seen to.” He looked to the waiters and the host, “Are we square?” They all agreed that they were more than square, things were peachy all around.

 

Buffy looked from man to man, to man, to man. Spike bent and picked up her other shoe and held it out to her. “You look lovely,” he said wearing his most charming smile. All he wanted was for her not to make a scene until they had left this fine establishment.

 

“What’s going on?” she hissed, trying to slip into her shoe.

 

“Did you enjoy your meal?” The waiters were clearing the table beside them. “Come on, you can take care of that once we get outside.” He reached and took the shoe from her, as well as the one in her other hand.

 

“Why are you here?” Her tone implied he had no business being anywhere without her permission. Did she truly think she had him on house arrest? It was bad enough that she treated him like he was on retainer.

 

“Got a craving.” He shrugged. It was true. Simple as that.

 

“And you?”

 

“I...well...I was hungry.” True enough.

 

“Do you often dine alone?” He was holding the door for her, she slipped past him, barely brushing against his chest, as she did so. He picked up a faint trace of perfume. He swallowed hard as his head went spinning.

 

“I just...no, not really. My friend...couldn’t make it.” She didn’t know where to turn her eyes. Buffy was pretty sure he knew she was lying. It looked like he had paid the bill AND the tip. She felt less guilty, now that she knew the waiters hadn’t been stiffed, but no less uncomfortable to think he had covered her tab.

 

“Fancy that. Night didn’t go as I planned either.” They were on the sidewalk now. Buffy reached for her shoe and Spike offered her his arm to hold for balance as she slipped first one, then the other, onto her feet.

 

She faced him. “Did you pay for my meal?” She sounded curious, with a sprinkle of shocked, but she didn’t sound angry.

 

“No need to thank me.”

 

“I wasn’t going to,” she said without hesitation.

 

Well, that was no surprise. They stood looking each other up and down in the semi-darkness. Buffy didn’t need bright lights to appreciate how nice Spike looked. He looked at her appreciatively, but chastely.

 

She didn’t like it. That was all kinds of wrong, but she plain didn’t like it. She had gotten used to piggish Spike. She knew what to DO with piggish Spike. So what was his angle tonight? Buy her dinner, ignore her cleavage, offer her his arm but not a single leer or snigger? What was up with that? And what was up with his clothes?

 

This was Buffy’s night of role play, and for role play to work, everyone had to play their part. His part was piggish Spike. She hadn’t handed him a new script. She hadn’t sent him for a wardrobe change, or to Emily Posts’ finishing school. On the other hand, in the street light, his dark shirt, tie, and pants, did look a lot like the waiter’s uniform, and he was all manners and soft gracious tones.

 

“Did you drive?” he asked.

 

Buffy eyed him suspiciously.

 

“You had a bit to drink,” he explained his question.

 

“You were WATCHING ME?”

 

Gulp.

 

“Hard to ignore a pretty lady.” Surely she couldn’t deck him for that. Not to mention that he’d been the one sending wine her way.

 

“Yes, I drove.”

 

“Well, you can’t drive home, not yet.”

 

No, she really shouldn’t. She looked vaguely up and down the street.

 

“Maybe you could?”

 

He shook his head, “I’ve been at the bar all evening.” It wouldn’t have stopped him from driving his car, but he wouldn’t drive hers, or HER. He wasn’t drunk but he was feeling loose and easy.

 

“We could walk.” They already were. “I have a stake.”

 

Spike chuckled. He knew she would. No matter what word she, or anyone else, chose to describe their relationship, no one could argue he didn’t know his Slayer. As well he should. One should never let the opponent get the upper hand. Always stay vigilant.

 

“You didn’t really get stood up.”

 

“No.” She shook her head, she was wearing a small smile.

 

“Care to tell me what the game was?”

 

“It’s silly…” Well, it was.

 

“Oh, right then. I was wondering if you’d gone 007 or what not. Meeting your mole.”

 

Buffy smiled. “Nope, just a girl, going out for dinner.”

 

“With an invisible friend,” he supplied.

 

“Something like that.” She didn’t owe him an explanation. “And you? You’re all dressed up. Is there a story there?”

 

He wondered...She couldn’t think any worse of him than she did and the truth? Well, he was dressed for the part. “Thought I’d go out and pick up a bird.” He shrugged.

 

There was Buffy, on his arm.

 

“So is that your MO? Go to restaurants, pay for the meals of girls who got stood up and get lucky?” She was turned off by her own tone of voice.

 

Spike sighed, but it was a weak sigh. He wasn’t hurt or even disappointed. She’d only said what he would have expected her to. That was who she was to him. He had come to expect so little from her. It was actually kind of embarrassing.

 

“Yeah, sure.” He’d long since given up trying to defend himself against her. The shine was quickly going off the evening. He was sorry he’d ruined her fun, such as it was. He’d tried to stay on the down low but things had gone pear shaped.

 

She wasn’t too drunk to see her own way home, she was the Slayer, after all, he could go to Willy’s. He looked down at his clothing. Scratch that, he could go to the Bronze. It was early, barely past 9. He had plenty of time to catch a lady’s fancy.

 

“I think this is where I get off,” Spike said, dropping her arm.

 

Buffy looked at him, slightly surprised. “Oh.”

 

He took two steps from her, “Spike.”

 

He knew it in his gut, and in every last nerve of his body, that he should neither answer her nor look back at her. It never ended well for him. She was disappointed that he was leaving before she got a good shot in. He’d done right by her tonight, he didn’t owe it to her to let her kick him around. He hadn’t meant to ruin her game.

 

He kept moving away from her. He heard something hit the ground and turned. She stood there in her heels, toes pointed inwards. Her little clutch purse lay on the sidewalk halfway between himself and her. She looked up at him, put her fingers to her lips and said “Oops!”

 

Every hair on his body stood on end. He looked down at the purse, his eyes moved across the ground to her toes, her pretty ankles, her calves, the skirt, her tiny waist, perky little titties, graceful neck, then right into her playful eyes, that locked onto his own.

 

He took a step forward, leaned over and reached for her bag. He recognized that look in her eyes, it was the very one she’d been shooting that waiter all evening. The very same one.

 

“I believe you dropped this.” He held it out to her, head bowed, then carefully lifted his head and caught her eye. “Ma’am…”

 

“Thank you! How careless of me. I’m a little flustered. You see, I was supposed to meet someone.”

 

“Oh, well. I’m sure he’ll be right along. No one would stand up a beautiful lady like yourself.” He stayed ever so slightly deferential.

 

“Well, that’s very kind of you to say, but you see, the thing is I don’t exactly know what he looks like. It was a blind date. I mean, really he could be anyone. He could be you.”

 

Spike saw every second of his life AND his unlife flash before his eyes.

 

“Well, I was looking for a lady,” he dared to say, gazing up at the sky. “But I don’t think it could be you. Clearly, a woman like yourself. I wouldn’t dare presume...”

 

“Well, how do we know? What’s your name?”

 

This was it, he thought. He had to have the right answer…

 

“Wright. The name is Wright.”

 

“Lovely to meet you, Mr. Wright, I’m your date, Buffy Summers.” She offered him her hand.

 

He took it, just barely, and kissed it so gently that only his breath touched her skin. When he let go, she did not. She held his fingers. She held his gaze.

 

Spike felt his stomach knot, then unknot. He closed his eyes for just a moment. It seems the Slayer had handed him a new script. A new role.

 

“But you can call me Buffy.”

 

Oh dear lord…

 

……………………………


	2. Nice Place You Have Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They arrive at Spike's crypt where he introduces Buffy to the amenities, including a very personal bubble bath.

A Night With Mr. Wright Chapter Two: Nice Place You Have Here

 

Spike broke out into a sweat when Buffy opened her purse to go digging for her lip gloss and dropped a mini-stake to the ground. “I don’t know why that old thing is in here! I won’t be needing that tonight, I’m sure.”

 

Spike watched it bounce, and roll across the concrete. Was this a dare? There was no way in hell he was going to arm his date. Besides, in her hands, with HER strength, her heels would do the job just as handily should she change her mind about things.

 

He swallowed hard as he watched the stake roll into the curb.

 

“Could you hold this a sec?” Buffy handed him her purse while she very deliberately applied a sweet smelling, glossy concoction to her pretty pink lips. OK, now she was just playing with him.

 

Playing with him. ROLE playing with him. Spike knew all about role playing, he straddled two worlds, but he’d never gotten into the sex variety. Didn’t need to. Turns out doing it with a vampire is something of a turn on for a lot of women, handy that...Role playing was for men that weren’t alluring enough on their own.

 

He could understand a bloke wanting his bird to dress up or what not, but the campy things never interested him. He never saw a reason to bring Halloween into the bedroom. If he wanted a nurse or a schoolgirl, he could always grab the real thing himself. Still, maybe it was time to give the idea a go.

 

He knew he had to make his mind up this very second. The Slayer was like an antelope, she’d shy away at the first sign that something was off. If he kept it seamless, he had a chance at getting out of this alive and with maybe a bit more. If he called her on it, either in word, tone, or tilt of his head, he’d never get another chance.

 

Thing was, he didn’t think that Buffy wanted an overly submissive man. He couldn’t just go simpering after her hoping for scraps. He was going to have to step up, which meant putting himself in danger. Made the game a damn site more interesting.

 

When Buffy reached for her purse, he made sure to brush her hand. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean--” he said deferentially. It was a test, it was ONLY a test.

 

“No, it was my fault, how careless of me.” She ran her fingers quite pointedly over his wrist as she took her purse back.

 

The Slayer touched him, she’d bloody touched him, ON PURPOSE, and in a non-threatening way. But she wasn’t the Slayer, she’d introduced herself as Buffy.

 

Spike said a silent prayer to the Powers That Be. No matter which way this went, he was going to need all the help he could get.

 

“That was a lovely restaurant. I’ve been wanting to eat there ever since the opened. I like the atmosphere and the waiters, they look so nice, in their dark shirts, with their dark ties.” Buffy was only inches away from him now. She had the tail of his tie in one hand and the fingers of her other were reaching for the knot.

 

He’d role play if that’s what she wanted, but he wasn’t going to be a bloody waiter.

 

“Not a bad look on a boy. How do you like it on a man?” His hand went over hers just in case she was inclined to tighten the knot. Breath or no, being strangled was damned unpleasant.

 

Buffy felt his hands move over hers and a jolt shot through--natural enemies--hyper awareness. Her fingers tightened. His jaw tightened.

 

With them, it was always a power play of who has the upper hand. Her hands reflexively twitched. She could already feel them balling into fists, though they hadn’t...yet. The Slayer’s senses were always microseconds ahead of the rest of her. His demon senses were as well.

 

Buffy tensed her forearms, ready to shoot them apart and knock his arms down away from her face, ready to…

 

Spike’s hand over hers wasn’t grabbing, or balling into a fist. His fingers were firm as they slid sensually spreading over the back of her hand, pushing the tension out the ends of her fingers, in one smooth stroke. His thumb slipped into the hollow of her palm.

 

The hand that was holding the tail of his tie followed suit, uncurling, fingers splaying against the center of his chest. Buffy was certain she felt a tiny shiver move through him.

 

She was touching Spike. Like TOUCHING touching Spike, and she wasn’t trying to kill him.

 

“Glad you like the look. Wasn’t sure what to wear when I left the house tonight, blind date and all.” He gently reminded her which game they were playing. Seemed the Slayer might have a problem with her short term memory.

 

“It’s a nice look, sort of what I was hoping for.”

 

“I didn’t dare hope for anyone as gorgeous as you. Looks like the Powers That Be decided this is my lucky night.”

 

“Looks like.” Buffy agreed, letting her free hand slide across his chest. “Mr. Wright.” She once again found the thread of the game. Both of them relaxed in relief, but Spike still held her hand.

 

“The night is young, pretty lady, what’s your pleasure? There’s a club not far from here, we could go dancing. Pretty night for a moonlit walk.” He glanced up and the moonless sky but decided to ignore its lack of cooperation.

 

Buffy stepped back, her clutch purse dangling from her wrist, that damned thing was determined to keep getting in the way. She pulled it off and thrust it at him again. He took it while she bent down and yanked off a shoe. “I love dancing,” she said, staggering on one foot. “But,” she snapped the heel off her shoe. “I can’t possibly dance with a broken heel.”

 

Spike put his arm out and she caught it for balance, though she didn’t really NEED it. “Hold this.” He held her purse out. Buffy took it and watched as he slid down onto one knee. She put her weight against him as he lifted her other foot, slipped off the shoe, looked up into her eyes and snapped off the heel. “I guess that walk is out too.”

 

“Maybe you’d better take me home.” After all, it only made sense.

 

“My place isn’t far from here.”

 

She’d already lost her shoes, may as well run with the Cinderella theme and sweep her off her feet.

 

He slipped his arms around her and easily lifted her. Buffy’s arm went round his neck and her swinging purse clocked him on the side of the head. He winced at the unexpected smack to the corner of his eye. Buffy let out a tiny giggle.

 

In a stage whisper, he asked, “Am I going to need a safe word Slayer?”

 

“Sorry about that.”

 

“Just want you to know, house rules. My crypt is a purse free zone.”

 

Crypt. sigh, Sid he have to say “crypt”? That sounded so...Slayer/Vampirish.

 

“Hey now, what’s wrong?” He’d caught her sigh.

 

“In my imagination, Mr. Wright didn’t have a tombstone for a headboard,” she admitted.

 

Smile smiled. “Is that how you think I live?”

 

“I have been to your place before.”

 

“Mr. Wright has a surprise for you Buffy Summers.” Once again feeling the need to remind her who they were tonight.

 

“I’m not sure I like surprises.” In her line of work, they tended to be bad ones.

 

“I promise you’ll like this.”

 

“And you think you know me so well?”

 

“Course not, never laid eyes on you till tonight, but I got the clothes right didn’t I?”

 

“And the restaurant.” That was still a head scratcher. She hadn’t expected his culinary tastes to extend beyond blooming onions and hot wings.

 

They had arrived at the gate to Restfield Cemetery, Buffy closed her eyes and tucked her face into his neck. She didn’t want to see the place, it might kill the mood, and she definitely didn’t want to see any vampires.

 

He liked the feel of her face against his neck. “Enjoying the ride?”

 

“Mmmm….” Wow, he smelled good. How the heck could a vampire smell good?

 

He took her yummy sound as a yes.

 

“Almost there.”

 

She knew. Even as she tried to ignore the reality of their location, and even with her eyes closed she knew exactly how many steps from the gate to the place where the paved path turned to gravel. Sure enough, she heard the crunch of it beneath his feet right on cue. A few paces more and it ended as he stepped onto the grass. Four more paces and he stopped.

 

“Going to set you down a minute, but don’t open your eyes yet.”

 

She was surprised that he knew she’d had them closed. She stood on the stone threshold while he opened the crooked metal door. She had to take the blame for the way he had to shake it, lift it and push it against the creak of its hinges. It was her fault for having kicked it in so many times. On the other hand, no one could open that door quickly OR quietly, so it served duty as a security alarm. Spike always knew when she, or anyone else, had come to pay him a visit.

 

He took her hand, “Two steps down,” he warned. Yes, she knew.

 

“Up you go.” He swept her into his arms again. 7 steps to the back of the crypt. “Hold on.” He pulled her close and she felt them descending. Wait a minute what WAS this?

 

Buffy’s eyes popped open but it did no good, it was pitch black. And cold. OMG, what had she done?

 

“Here you go.” He set her down on something soft, and satiny, her hands ran over the cool surface beneath her.

 

She heard Spike’s feet moving over the floor, clanks, and jiggles as he moved things around, scraping noises, then light. Candlelight. She watched as more and more of the space came into view as he lit several candelabras and one torch.

 

“Wow, nice place you’ve got here,” she said sincerely. Way to go Mr. Wright!

 

“Thanks, I did it up myself.” He seemed quite satisfied with it, Buffy noted. It wasn’t what she would have expected of Spike. Not that she’d given it much thought. She had assumed he’d just lived in that area upstairs, surrounded by dust and old tattered furniture. She assumed he didn’t care about comfort let alone decor.

 

The space wasn’t Architecture Digest “home of the month” material, but it was appealing. There were carpets on the floor, nice furniture, and an honest to god, LARGE, and very comfortable bed. She noted the several fluffy pillows and the soft, posh comforter she was seated on. It wasn’t black satin like she would have guessed had she been pressed, it was shimmery golden peach. All the colors in the room were warm and inviting, made even more so by the candlelight.

 

Mr. Wright was full of surprises.

 

Spike came to her and held out his hand expectantly. She looked at him, puzzled. “Purse,” he reminded her.

 

She handed it to him, he put it into the top drawer of a bureau and slammed it shut. She cocked an eyebrow at him. “House rules. Any others I should know about?” She cocked her eyebrow at him.

 

He grinned. “I make them up as I go.”

 

She gazed around the room, “Do you do a lot of entertaining?” She didn’t see any evidence of a woman’s presence.

 

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell. Could I offer you a drink?”

 

“What do you have?”

 

Spike went to a mini fridge and opened the door. “Store brand cola, cheap beer and Strawberry Crush.” He opted not to mention the blood.

 

“Ooh, strawberry!”

 

He opened the bottle and poured some into a cocktail glass, careful not to let the pink foam rise over the top. He poured a second for himself.

 

“To blind dates,” he toasted, offering her a glass.

 

“And surprises,” she toasted in return.

 

“And pink mustaches,” Spike said with a sly grin. Buffy swiped the back of her hand across her mouth.

 

“Too late?” she guessed. Spike hadn’t gulped his, he sported no mustache.

 

“`Fraid so.” He bent towards her. “There’s a fix for that.” He took the glass from her hand and set it on the bedside table.

 

He was VERY close. OMG, he was going to kiss her. Buffy stiffened. He was moving closer, closer. Spike lifted the end of his tie and dabbed her upper lip. “That’s a bit better,” he declared.

 

What the? Oh, hell no mister. Buffy grabbed his tie, pulled him close and kissed him. THAT was LOT better.

 

A LOT, a lot better.

 

She was shocked when she felt Spike pulling back, wait what? Where was Spike, local pervert, always getting under the Slayer’s skin and hinting that he wanted to get into her pants? Where the hell did he think he was going?

 

He was definitely pulling back. Their lips parted, but only for a moment. He took her head in his hands and kissed her. Softly, gently, his lips moved over hers, his tongue roved over her lips, sucking in her top lip just a bit to capture the sweetness of the soda. He released her with a tiny smack.

 

“I think I got it.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“I could double check.”

 

She nodded, it never hurt to be thorough. It was better not to leave important things like this to chance. Buffy opened her mouth to him, but he didn’t accept the invitation. He was focused on her lips, kissing them, nibbling them, tracing them with his tongue.

 

She shouldn’t have been surprised he’d be such a tease, Spike had always teased her. He was a master of innuendo, he enjoyed the hunt as much as the kill.

 

Actually, this was pretty nice. She smiled when the tip of his tongue wiggled at the corner of her mouth.

 

“Like that?”

 

“Tickles…”

 

“And this?” He ran the flat of his teeth over her bottom lip.

 

“That tickles too.”

 

“And this?” His fingers slipped over the skin on the sides of her neck.

 

That tickled as well, but she felt it more between her legs than on her neck, so her reply was more of a moan than a giggle. Spike was satisfied with her answer.

 

Buffy was slipping back, back, back as Spike plied her with kisses. The material of her skirt caught on the fabric of the comforter, as she went down, her skirt pulled up. Spike reached down to catch her before she slipped any lower, his hand hooked under her very bare thigh.

 

“Oh...fuck,” she whispered, barely audible, but of course he heard it.

 

“All in good time, Luv.” He took advantage of her slightly parted lips to slip his tongue into her mouth and past her teeth. He could only feel her smile for a moment before it stretched into a wide open mouth, sucking him in.

 

Spike had never even considered that if he ever got into this position with Buffy, he’d be the one trying to slow her down. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her, but he would very much like to touch and taste her before he took her.

 

His hand couldn’t resist kneading the back of her thigh. He felt the vibrations of her squeal against his tongue, which he slowly withdrew from her mouth. She squealed again, this time in protest. Her tongue followed his, as if pursuing it, past his lips, past his teeth, until she was thrusting into his mouth, as she thrust her hips up toward him in response to his hand on her ass. Her rhythm was measured but forceful.

 

For Spike, there was no greater turn on than a partner’s raw desire. This woman didn’t need to be coaxed, hell she didn’t WANT to be coaxed. Maybe, he should let her coax him! He always wondered what she’d be like if she put the moves on.

 

He released her thigh dropping her gently to the bed. Their lips parted.

 

He stood up, “I just want to remove my tie.” His hands began to loosen the knot. His eyes never leaving her face. He was taken in by her bright eyes and wet, swollen lips, and her slight look of dazed confusion.

 

Buffy looked around, reorienting herself to where she was. Spike frowned, damn, he might lose her if she “came to”. But, better have her walk away now, than kill him later for something she decided she wished she hadn’t done.

 

She reached over and took several swallows of soda before her eyes returned to his face. He was working his tie over his head when her hands went to his belt buckle. “Here, let me.”

 

She fumbled for a few seconds before giving a little shrug and snapping the buckle in two. Phhhttt...it was killing the mood.

 

“That’s one way to skin a cat.” He watched as she grabbed the waistband of his pants and similarly dispatched with the snap and zipper. He quickly grabbed the tails of his shirt and pulled it over his head before buttons went flying everywhere. He rather liked that shirt and he didn’t fancy having to sew it back together.

 

Their eyes met. He motioned to his pants, “You want to do the honors or should I take them off the old fashioned way?” They were ruined anyway, if she cared to rip them off of him it didn’t matter now.

 

Buffy made a twirling motion with her finger, motioning for him to turn around. Puzzled, he did as he was told, and ended up facing her. She motioned again and stopped him once his back was to her, her hands moved to his thighs tugging on the material.

 

“Do it yourself strip tease?” he asked.

 

“More like unwrapping a present.”

 

“Never figured you for an ass girl.”

 

“We only met tonight,” she reminded him.

 

“Oh right.” He’d better be careful to keep his place.

 

Her hand ran over the ass in question. Then in one final tug, his pants were around his ankles.

 

“Enjoying the view?”

 

“Mmmhmmm, but I bet there’s an even better one.”

 

“Your wish is my command.” He finished undressing, letting her enjoy the image of his ass flexing as he bent to remove his pants and shoes.

 

He presented himself to the lady for inspection.

 

She was leaning back on her hands, her eyes moved over him as if she was satisfying a long curiosity. He could nearly hear things snapping together in her mind, what she’d expected and what she saw before her. The lady showed no sign of disappointment. Was she licking her lips because she’d drank more soda or was she licking her lips at the sight of him?

 

Buffy inched backward on the bed. She wasn’t surprised at how good Spike looked, she was surprised at how good it felt to look at him, and let her eyes roam over him as an object of desire instead of a foe or tedious annoyance. She thought about all the times she’d seen him or touched him, all the little pieces that she’s refused to let her mind knit together because it was safer to imagine him broken and shattered.

 

Now he was like that Venus on the half shell painting she’d seen in art history class, except Spike wasn’t covering any of his private parts, not that a hand could have covered it, not in its current condition. He was rising to his full beauty before her, and he was really, well...beautiful. Was it a bad thing for a man to look as freaking, mouth-wateringly, delicious as he did? Riley was a hunk, a really good looking guy, but Spike was like a damn work of art...that was moving towards her and over her like a mesmerizing panther.

 

Buffy didn’t lay back, she wanted to feel him hit her front, and feel his body push her down and press her to the bed. She wanted to feel that hard on against her thigh only for as long as it took for him to get her panties down and...

 

“Hope you didn’t need these,” he said unapologetically as he tore through the waistband and she felt her panties snap away from her hips.

 

“I have more at home,” she said, as he flicked the bit of fabric out of the way, and pushed her back farther onto the bed.

 

Spike was pulling up her skirt as he moved her backward. He pushed himself forwards as he mouthed her neck. “Any last requests?”

 

Buffy wound her legs around his hips and pulled him in. “Just fuck me.”

 

He was quite certain that was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him. It was surely the nicest thing that had ever come out of Buffy’s mouth, at least until a moment later when he thrust into her and she made a sound that was halfway between a swallow and a groan. That was followed by a hissing intake of breath that sounded exactly how he felt, like a drop of water bursting into steam, as his cool flesh entered her heat.

 

A part of his brain was warning him to stay alert for danger. He told that part of his brain to sod off. He had a sexy, desirable, horny woman with him, beneath him, around him, and he wasn’t going to pay attention to anything other than the sucking, pumping magic, the glorious heat and the way her nails in his back were telling him she wanted more.

 

Spike’s face was buried in the blanket beside her head as she mouthed his shoulder and he lifted her hips, adjusting the angle so he could answer her request for more, deeper, harder...now.

 

Apparently, Spike did know when to shut his mouth and do as he was told, was the closest thing to a coherent thought that went through Buffy’s mind as he plowed into her.

 

He was always such a tease, a game player, but when the chips were down, she had always been able to count on him to get the job done. The taste of salt registered on her tongue in sharp contrast to the sweet from the soda. Buffy hadn’t realized her mouth was open, on his skin, sucking at it, hungry for the hard muscle of his shoulder, hungry for his hard mass of power.

 

Somewhere in the red hot haze, she realized she KNEW the taste and smell of him. 1000 times it had burned at the back of her throat, made her hackles rise in anger and her muscles tense and itch. It had filled her with the violent need to hit him, to feel flesh and bone crash into flesh and bone the way their hips were crashing now.

 

The bow of his jaw dug into her temple and the pumping bolt of his cock rammed into her harder than a fist. The smell and taste of him were already imprinted in her mind inextricably bound to the surging need to unleash a fury of pent-up frustration, of pent up everything the Slayer wasn’t supposed to be.

 

Buffy had thought it was madness, violence, even hatred, that she’d felt around Spike. She thought her anger was the result of knowing she shouldn’t, couldn’t beat a helpless creature, even if he was a vampire, even if he was a...Spike.

 

A laugh began to rumble up from deep in her belly, from the very place the burning head of him was hitting with each relentless pump. She finally got the joke. Her laugh burst out in a ragged, throaty gurgle just as Spike was reaching the punch line.

 

He kept pumping, slower now, shallower, but no softer, coming down from a high. She could hear his breathing and wondered if he’s been holding his breath as he fucked her, too focused moving his hips to work his lungs. A sound that was half a laugh broke out of his throat. His weight fell on her before he rolled them on their sides.

 

He stretched his back like a cat and rolled his neck before coming to and opening his eyes. “You on top?” He offered, knowing she hadn’t climaxed.

 

“You can still?” After all, he had finished.

 

“I’m good.” He was already rolling onto his back, lifting her up. “But this has got to go.” He pulled at her skirt.

 

Buffy reluctantly climbed off, but Spike was right there to kiss it better, kissing her hips as he worked her skirt down over her legs, her belly as he lifted off her top and her shoulders while he unhooked her bra.

 

“Can’t forget these.” His mouth moved to her nipple, while the pad of his thumb brushed its twin on her other breast.

 

Seeing his head at her breast felt suddenly intimate and distressing. Fucking was like fighting, but this was something very different. She wasn’t sure she liked it. She pulled his face up and kissed him, eyes closed, letting the thrust of his tongue lead her back into the mindless beat. She straddled his lap and Spike pulled her down hard onto him.

 

He pulled his mouth off hers. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go.” He went to mouth her breast again, but she pushed his head away.

 

“You don’t like it?”

 

Yes, no...She wasn’t sure what the truth was. “It’s distracting.” That was a fair assessment, she didn’t need to explain why. He gave a tiny nod, pressed his forehead to her breastbone and let his hands work her thighs and ass as she found a rhythm. He knew better than to argue with a lady about the best way to come.

 

Buffy had her hands on his shoulders, she’d seen him move so many times in battle, muscles bunching and stretching beneath his shirt that her fingers found they knew the very shape of them. She realized she was familiar with every catch of his breath, and that she knew the span of his hands. She knew just where she wanted them and what they were capable of. She reached down and moved his right hand lower on her ass, and moved his left hand up front, their eyes met.

 

“What do you want me to do, Luv?”

 

With her hand, she motioned as if she was lighting a cigarette. He was confused until he saw what she did with her fingers. She moved tips against each other with a slight roll, the way he did when he was taking a focused drag.

 

Was this something she thought about? Had she imagined this, when she saw him roll a cigarette between his fingers? He wondered what else had run through her naughty mind while she watched him suck in smoke. He slipped his fingers down to where their bodies met and watched her face as he repeated what had, up until now, been an unconscious motion.

 

She drew a breath deeper than any drag he’d taken in his long unlife. The lady knew what she wanted, and he was happy to oblige. Buffy moved over him, tilting and heaving and panting and squirming until...bloody hell, the damn girl was so hot he was afraid he’d blow a second time before she got hers.

 

He pulled her up just a mite with his right hand and gave one more slow rolling tweak with his left. He winced just a little as her fingers dug into his shoulders and the spasms of her climax, sucked at his erection with a power any vamp would be proud of. Damn if the Slayer wasn’t going to drain him dry.

 

He resisted the urge to finish inside her, in spite of her shuddering muscles and intoxicating heat. He’d better hang onto this one, he might need it later, but good god, if the girl moved, even took a deep breath, he was going to lose it. Lucky for both of them, she was out of breath at the moment, and in a state of partial paralysis.

 

Spike bit his lip and thought of the empire. By the time Buffy came to and slumped against him, his threatening spasm had subsided.

 

“Hmmm…” They fell back together onto the bed in a damp, but happy heap.

 

“Cold?” Spike asked after a minute or two of happy basking.

 

“Thirsty.” Buffy realized, now that her breath rate was back to normal and she was no longer breathing through her mouth.

 

She reached for her soda glass but Spike stilled her arm, “Hang on.” He got up and came back with a straw. She looked at him questioningly, grown man drinking from a straw?

 

“I’m a vampire, we like to suck on things,” he said in his defense. “If you don’t want it, I’ll take it back, you look very distinguished with a mustache.”

 

She took the straw.

 

Spike watched her cautiously, as he drank his own soda through a straw. She’d be coming round now. Wine worn off, lust abated, with her shoes gone, panties torn and no stake in sight. He wasn’t sure who he was dealing with just yet. Was she still his blind date Buffy Summers, or did he have the Slayer back on his hands?

 

She finished her soda. Set down her glass, sighed and flopped back onto the bed. That was encouraging. He approached her.

 

“You look very lovely.” It never hurt to offer a woman a compliment, especially if it was heartfelt, and this one most definitely was. She looked like a goddess, like Venus spread over his bed, her hair splayed out against the pearly sheen of the comforter.

 

She picked up a few strands of her hair and held them across her upper lip. “Mustache?” She pulled them away “Or no mustache?”

 

He cocked his head. “Not sure, go again.”

 

She put the hair back under her nose, he bent and kissed her, pulling away, his nose twitching.

 

She pulled the lock of hair away, and he kissed her again. And again. And then more deeply still.

 

“I guess that would be no mustache,” she said when their lips parted.

 

“Funny that,” his brow creased, “Doesn’t bother me when I’m kissing….” his finger slipped down between her breasts, over her navel and straight down into her pubic curls, “Doesn’t bother me at all.” He met her eye. She blushed, but just a tiny bit.

 

Spike picked up his straw with his finger over the end of it, he brought it to her tummy and dropped a tiny puddle of strawberry soda onto the taut skin. Her muscle twitched at the cold and then at the fizzle. Spike smiled and licked it clean.

 

He took up another straw full and trickled it at the base of her throat, her fingers slipped into his hair as he bent to slurp it up. “Ew,” she complained. “Your hair is crispy.” She pulled her hands back.

 

“It is not, it’s stiff,” he corrected her. He didn’t care for her tone of voice.

 

“Ewwww,” she repeated. “There are definitely things a girl wants stiff in the bedroom, hair is not one of them,” she informed him.

 

“So what are you saying then? Game called on account of technicality?” He was gathering another straw full of soda.

 

“No, just saying a girl likes something she can run her fingers through.” She watched where he was going with the straw…

 

Drop, drop, drop...a trail down from her throat to the center of her breasts. He eyed her cautiously, she was fiddly about her breasts. He let one pink drop fall on her nipple, it fizzed furiously when it hit her warm skin. Her nipple shot to attention, very carefully he put his tongue out and touched the tip of it. Buffy watched him wordlessly, mesmerized as his mouth closed over the end, both as cool as, and as tantalizing as the soda. Oh god, it felt good. She closed her eyes, while he suckled first one breast, then the other.

 

It wasn’t Spike. He wasn’t Spike, he was the dashing Mr. Wright, the world’s most fortuitous of blind dates. Buffy Summers would never let Spike...her fingers automatically reached to move through his hair.

“Ewwww,” she said again pushing his head away.

 

“Let me guess, Mr. Wright doesn’t use hair gel?” He quirked his eyebrow at her.

 

Buffy pushed up onto her elbows. “Why do you?”

 

His eyes flitted away. “Oh, you know, all that fighting. Don’t want it getting all over the place, free for some baddie to grab and what not.”

 

She got the feeling this was only a half truth. “You could just shave your head,” she suggested.

 

Spike ran his hand over his hair and looked as if she’d suggested he get castrated.

 

“Lots of guys do it. It can be kind of sexy.” She shrugged, but not with much conviction. She kind of liked Spike’s hair. The way it looked suited him, and it was like a warning sign. Caution, Annoying vampire ahead. It looked good, it just didn’t FEEL very good. There were sometimes when she was doing the deed that she wanted to slip her fingers through something soft and silky, not something hard and crispy.

 

His mouth was a dissatisfied pucker. He had just about broken through the breast barrier when his hair had brought things to a screeching halt. He wondered if this was going to be a continuing issue.

 

“Does it bother you that much?”

 

“I don’t know that I’d stay it BOTHERS me. It’s just weird. Like you're wearing a helmet or something.”

 

Angel uses hair gel, he nearly said, then stopped, because ...eww, Angel uses hair gel.

 

“I can wash it out,” he offered.

 

“You have running water in here?” This crypt was better furnished than a pharoah’s tomb, everything a corpse could desire for an enjoyable afterlife. Mini fridge, comfy bed, running water.

 

“Hot AND cold.” All this time she knew him, she’d never REALLY known him. How did she think he stayed so clean?

 

“HOT?”

 

“Solar panels on the roof.” He jerked his head upwards.

 

“You have a shower?”

 

“I have a tub too.”

 

Buffy didn’t like the way that sounded, she LOVED the way that sounded.

 

“Comes in handy, you know...if I have to rinse out a few unmentionables.” Oh that look of his, so playful, SO naughty, so adorable.

 

“You should rinse out that unmentionable hair gel.”

 

“You could supervise. Make sure I don’t miss a spot.”

 

Buffy felt like she was in an altered reality. Was she with Spike, Mr. Wright or a very cute and naughty boy? He seemed all three in turn.

 

She watched as he disappeared into the shadows. She heard the squeak of a faucet turning, and then running water,

 

“Bubbles or no bubbles?” he called.

 

What the hell? “Bubbles, LOTS of bubbles.”

 

She followed the sound of rushing water and Spike humming. Best. Blind. Date. Ever.

 

“That is a LOT of bubbles.” She stopped short. They were already threatening to pour over the edge of the tub and the tub couldn’t even have been half full of water.

 

She scooped up a handful. “Smells nice!” She applied a poof of them over one breast. She used to do it as a girl, making herself a bubble bikini.

 

“Hey now, don’t cover up all the pretty bits!” he complained when she used a second handful to hide her other breast. She certainly was fiddly about them.

 

She shot him an arch look and turned away from him with a sniff. Spike took his own handful of bubbles and put a generous dab at the top of her butt. “Bunnytail,” he said with a smirk.

 

Buffy leaned over the tub to a very appreciative audience and felt the water. It was just about half full, better stop now or it would overflow once they got in. The tub wasn’t huge, but neither of them was very large and both of them were VERY flexible.

 

She motioned for him to turn off the tap. He was inclined to be obedient as long as he liked what she was ordering him to do.

 

She held his offered hand, as she stepped into the tub. It wasn’t as bright here as it had been in the bedroom, but it wasn’t totally dark. Spike brought over a candelabra as if he’d read her mind. It wasn’t the first time, not by a long shot. It often unnerved her the way Spike seemed to just know what she was thinking.

 

“Is there room for me?”

 

“I think if we both sit down at the same time.” Buffy frowned as she tried to work out the logistics of where arms and legs were going to go.

 

“Hang on.” Spike knelt at the side of the tub and motioned for her to sit down. His head disappeared under the bubbles, under the water. She got a bit weirded out when it didn’t emerge after several seconds.

 

“Spike?” Of course, he couldn’t hear her...could he?

 

She reached under the water and pulled up his head. “That was disturbing.”

 

“I was just wetting my head.” He batted the bubbles away from his face. He touched the back of his head. “It’s starting to melt.”

 

“Ewwww…” She pushed his head back under the water. He moved his head against her hands, helping himself to a scalp massage. It was pretty cute so she played along, loosening the dissolving gel with her fingertips, working her way through his soft short hair. She was surprised it wasn’t like wire from all the bleaching. She felt him nip at her leg.

 

She pulled his head up. “Are you OK?” She KNEW he didn’t have to breathe, but she still wasn’t quite used to seeing a person stay under so long.

 

“Yeah, just, frisky.” Water was pouring into his eyes, which was making him feel less frisky.

 

“Did you get it all out?” He motioned to his head.

 

“I don’t think yet.”

 

“Have another go.” His head ducked back down, but this time farther, and deeper. He was nipping at the inside of her thigh, nosing his way towards her. Buffy erupted into giggles when Spike released a stream of bubbles at the apex of her legs. She spread them further to encourage him to get close.

 

“Liked that huh?” He noticed, coming up to breathe in another round of ammunition.

 

“Mmmmhmmmm” she said, pushing his head back under, arching her back to give him better access.

 

She felt his nose nuzzle deep between her legs before he let free a fizzling stream of bubbles. It was very nice. She waited for his head to rise again, but it stayed under the water and very much between her legs. His cool tongue flickered out, teasing through her folds. Holy cats. She grabbed his hair and yanked his head up.

 

“What, I thought you’d like that?”

 

She did, she really did.

 

“I just thought it would be better if I…” She slipped around and down “And if you…” She tugged him over and across, “and now…” She began to lead his head back down.

 

Before he went under, he nodded. “I see what you mean.”

 

Now THIS was...wow. Seriously who needed a jacuzzi? All a girl needed was a vampire, a very naughty, accommodating... “Ohh Ohh” sounds fluttered out of her. Spike was always running off at the mouth, turns out she just needed to give him something better to do with those lips.

 

She thought that thing he did with his fingers when he smoked had felt good. Wow! His lips! He was an amazing kisser. That thing he’d done where he suckled on her upper lip…

 

Which, he was doing an underwater version of now….damn, damn, damn, damn...and when he ran the satiny surface of his front teeth over her bottom lip...oh yes...juuuuuusssssttt like that. She raised her hips to meet him, which forced his nose against...wow... That was a sort of weird move...I mean...She thought it was his nose, but it was all kinds of soft on the end and a little bit bumpy.

 

Did this make her kinky? To be sort of humping his, “Ahhhhmmm” she cried out. She was pretty sure THAT wasn’t his nose, damn he had a long tongue--the better to eat you with my dear--she could practically hear his voice in her ear.

 

 

The way he was making her feel definitely had a fairy tale quality to it. He was sampling her as if she was the most delectable goody in Red Riding Hood’s basket.

 

First, the fronts of his teeth tickled her clitty, then his gentle upper lip caressed it, then his bottom lip slowly tickled her, rubbing back and forth. Next his tongue began circling, then he did this THING. It was a thing that men can’t do out of the water, and since most men can’t stay under the water. She guessed she was going to forever think of this as that Spike thing.

 

He put his lips around her very swollen, and slightly quivering, clitoris and gently sucked water in and out of his mouth so it tickled over her in the most amazing, mind blowing, never felt anything quite like it in her life, kind of way.

 

He was moving the water over her a little faster now. Was it possible to lick and suck at the same time? Because she was pretty sure that was his tongue, but the water was still breezing past her in tantalizing tingles...then it stopped.

 

All she felt was the insistent throb of his tongue muscle, not moving so much as pulsing in place. She felt her thighs clamping around his head. It was like he’d found the core of her and had melded with it. Everything inside her went tight, slowly throbbing, barely moving. In one languid stroke, he ended it for her. Fireworks burst behind her eyelids, tingles went zinging through her legs and back, and she swore she could feel him smiling against her inner thigh.

 

She untangled her fingers from his hair and sat gasping as he surfaced.

 

“It’s getting cold out here, do you mind if I join you?” He was wiping the water from his eyes.

 

Buffy looked at him through slit lids. How could he be so calm?

 

“Did you get all the gel out?”

 

Who the hell knew? Or cared?

 

Spike sighed, bent his head down under the water and scrubbed at his scalp for a few seconds while Buffy considered whether or not she wanted to bother trying to pull herself together. She decided not.

 

She watched with mild amusement and very little interest as Spike squeezed the excess water from his hair, dried off his face and climbed into the tub behind her. He stretched out his legs as best he could and pulled her up between them, luxuriating in the delicious heat of the warm water and the hot woman.

 

Buffy felt his cool cock growing warmer and harder against her back. Spike had one arm around her holding her slippery wet body against his, while his other hand fondled her nipples and he nuzzled her neck. She tilted her head to give him better access.

 

“This bubble bath smells nice,” she said dreamily.

 

“It smells like you,” he said, wriggling backward so he could align his growing erection with the crack of her ass cheeks.

 

“Huh?”

 

“Yeah, I bought it, because the way it smells reminds me of you.” Had his mind been capable of logical thought, he probably wouldn’t have admitted that, because it would go into Buffy’s “proof Spike is a creepy stalker” file. But he wasn’t thinking logically, he’d just been part of a rather stunning orgasm and was planning, very soon, to be part of another stunning orgasm. That required very little thinking, and probably wasn’t going to need much friction either.

 

Buffy thought that what he’d just told her was the most romantic thing she’d ever heard. He bought bubble bath because it reminded him of her. She pressed back against his rigid erection, then lifted herself feeling it slide between her cheeks. Spike pushed against her and she wiggled down then back up, then down. then back up. He made a little noise that sounded like he might be in pain.

 

Buffy knew that noise, she’d made it a time or two herself when she was oh so close, but not close enough. She wiggled free of Spike and turned around, taking the matter into her hands. Spike’s eyes locked on hers as her hands took hold of his turgid cock. She had a look of determination on her face that told him things were about to get very interesting. She gripped him hard around the base while her other hand worked its way up, then it replaced its partner. Over and over, her firm grip slid ever upward, stroking, coaxing and drawing his climax out of him. It was a lovely form of torture, but it was torture. He felt like he was on his tiptoes now, as high as he could go, but the bar was just out of reach. He wrapped his hands, along with Buffy’s, around his impossibly hard, and now somewhat painful erection, and with a determined pace, he fucked their joined fists.

 

It was wild, to have her hands wrapped around his invigorating power, his hands over hers trapping them against his flesh. She could feel the electric thrill of his skin as all his nerves wound tight, then tighter, coiled like tiny springs. In one last heated thrust, she felt them release as he squeezed their conjoined hands tight around his spasming cock.

 

Now THAT was fun! She liked being in the driver’s seat, with her hand wrapped around the stick shift of one very turned on, growling, vampire, who had gone into overdrive and was spurting all over her arms, hands, and cheek. Good thing they were in the tub!

 

“Sorry bout that.” Spike panted, touching her cheek.

 

“This? No worries. It’s good for the skin. Didn’t you know that’s why the skin is so soft on the inside of a woman’s thighs?” She couldn’t recall where she’d heard that one, probably Xander.

 

Spike let his head loll back, while Buffy peeled her hands free and splashed water over her arms and face. The smell of him made the muscles of her abdomen tighten. She could understand how the smell, and even the taste of his sweat, would cause her to react. She knew it, she’d fought with him, skin and against skin. Hell, she’d had his blood on her when she’d hit him especially hard, but this? How could she know and why would she react to the smell of his cum? It tugged on something inside of her. She felt like it was knocking on a door within her, pulling at her womb.

 

She smelled her hands again before she dipped them in the water to splash her face. The bubble bath smelled like her, and him, and now the two of them together.

 

He reached for her, sleepy-eyed, his wet hands slipping over her skin. Buffy moved towards him then stopped in shock. “Your hair is so curly.”

 

“Oh lord,” he groaned, running a hand over it to smooth it back.

 

“Don’t.” She stopped his hand. “You’re adorable!”

 

He’d been called many things by Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but in his wildest dreams, he’d never imagined a circumstance in which she would call him adorable. He’d landed either in heaven or hell. He wasn’t sure which, but he felt too damned good and he was too blasted tired to try and figure it out.

 

He pulled her up against his chest. “That’s me...bloody adorable.” He put a possessive arm around her. “Has anyone told you you’re down right tasty?”

 

“No, but if you don’t mind, can that stay our secret?”

 

“You think I want that to get out? Have other blokes trying to test the theory?”

 

She could feel his chuckle as it rolled inside his chest. “I’m taking that bit of intel to the grave with me, Buffy Summers.” 

 

Several beats of silence passed. “Spike, we’re already sort of in your grave.”

 

“Exactly, and that bit of information is never leaving this crypt.”

 

“Spike’s got curly hair…” she singsonged

 

He wiggled his fingers in her pubic whirls. “So do you.”

 

They slipped into a doze. Buffy woke them both with a shiver. The water had gone cold. They rinsed off in a hot shower before heading back to the bedroom.

 

The air in the crypt was chilly and Buffy’s flimsy clothing would hardly keep her warm. “Here.” Spike tossed her a long sleeved sweatshirt from his bureau and pulled out a pair of sweats for himself. She pulled the towel off her hair and shivered into the soft fabric. She continued to towel off her hair as she watched him dress, marveling again at the simple beauty of his physique.

 

Riley and Angel were both bulky, Spike had form to him, dips and hollows and shapes and shallows, ropes of muscles rather than mounds. When he moved it was as if every tiny part of him had a purpose and reason for being. He wasn’t a hulk of a man that it would take effort to put into motion. Spike was the motion. His very thoughts and emotions played across his skin, every muscle of his body as expressive as his face.

 

She swore his ass was smiling as he pulled the fabric over it. His chest looked happy and the muscles of his abdomen were definitely sporting a satisfied smirk.

 

Buffy noticed a few damp circles on the bed cover. She touched one and brought her finger to her upper lip, it was the smell of them together.

 

Spike was fumbling with a cord next to the bed.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Turning on the electric blanket.”

 

Of course, he would have an electric blanket. King Tut had to settle for a sarcophagus of gold, but Spike had an electric blanket.

 

She found a brush on his bureau and began to work it through her hair. The brush he used, no doubt, to tame his impish curls. She stopped mid stroke, suddenly feeling very awake, aware, and grounded. She felt tall like she was shooting up and had a bird’s eye view. She took in everything around her. A man’s room, glasses, and books, and a folded receipt, and this brush in her hand, shoes beside the bed, a person lived here.

 

What about the stupid old snarky pig of a vampire? Where did HE live? Was he in a closet somewhere? If Buffy looked around the crypt, would she find that jerky asshole of an excuse for a vampire? Where had Spike put him for the night?

 

Spike ran his fingers through his curls and gave his head a shake. “Happy now? This is what you wanted yeah? Spike, the adorable vampire.”

 

“You could be Mr. Wright again.” She gave a playful shrug.

 

“You can have Mr. Wright if you really want him, Luv, but he’s going to have to depend on Spike’s vampire stamina.” He slid his hands up over Buffy’s hips to rest on her tiny waist.

 

He released her and opened the bottom drawer, he rifled about and pulled out a pair of her undies, a pair that had gone curiously missing a few months earlier. “Care to wear these?”

 

Her mouth dropped open. She should have known...of course.

 

“Or…” He reached under a pillow on the bed. “I also have these.” a pair of purple silk “almost thongs” hung from his forefinger.

 

She should be angry. She really should sock him, but she had to grin because her question had just been answered. Where was Spike? Alive and well, and tucked into every nook and cranny of this space. She took the purple panties and bent WAY over as she slipped them on.

 

“They look just as fetching as I knew they would.” His eyes roved over her admiringly. She really should sock him.

 

..........................................................................


	3. What Happens In a Vampire's Lair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After having some fun as just a guy and a gal, they decide to take things to the next level with some Slayer/Vampire action. Buffy learns about the special properties of Vampire semen.

What Happens in A Vampire’s Lair

 

“Do you have any of my other clothes here? Pair of jeans, my favorite blouse that I blamed Dawn for losing?”

 

“Just a sweater but it’s a bit worse for wear.” His forehead creased.

 

“Do I even want to know?”

 

He shrugged. “You have your stuffed pig,” he reminded her. “I have the Slayer’s sweater.” OK, so maybe it wasn’t exactly the same thing, but lots of people had something special they liked to snuggle with at night, and the sweater felt nice, smelled nice and was safer than the real thing.

 

A hint of a smile lifted the corner of her mouth. He was full of surprises, though this one really shouldn’t have surprised her.

 

“I don’t suppose you have any Spike souvenirs.”

 

“No, I really don’t.” Her eyes flittered away. She did have the ring he’d given her when Willow had put them under that spell. She didn’t keep it as a Spike souvenir. Buffy wasn’t sure why she kept it, other than the fact that it was probably going to be the only engagement ring she would ever get and Spike had been very sweet when he’d given it to her. Besides, if she ever got into a tight spot financially, she could hock it...for about 3 bucks.

 

Buffy hadn’t ever forgotten that spell, but the sharp edges of it had dulled, the way dreams tend to do. She recalled the story, but not the details of how it had felt, or what exactly, had been said. She remembered that she had kissed Spike, but not what it had been like to kiss him. She remembered that she had loved him, but not what it had felt like. Her memories were more like watching a half-forgotten play that she’d been a part, of than something that had actually happened.

 

That’s how it was to do a thing with no consequences or connection to reality, it faded away, there was no cause to remember it, so it ceased to matter. She guessed it wasn’t much different from role playing, except tonight she had chosen to step outside of her reality, it hadn’t been forced upon her. She’d even chosen her partner...sort of.

 

Watching the curly haired man who was across the “room” plumping pillows, and padding around in bare feet and sweat pants, she wasn’t actually sure who she was with, or if the game was still on. He wasn’t the Spike she knew, but she was no longer certain if that meant he wasn’t Spike. Was he role playing NOW, or was he role playing when he was swaggering around blabbering on about something and stealing her underwear?

 

“Spike?” She felt like she had to know.

 

“Yeah?” He was collecting the glasses from the bedside table.

 

Well, at least he thought he was Spike. She was still caught up in a mind bender.

 

“I’m taking these upstairs, do you want anything? I have a bigger selection up top,” he offered.

 

Up top was probably a good idea, fresh air, and actual Spike-like surroundings. She would get her bearings back, things would fall into place. She ascended the ladder behind him.

 

This was better, she thought, taking in the familiar smells and sights, or maybe kind of worse. This night had been pretty great so far and she wasn’t sure she was ready for the bubble to burst. She kind of wanted to know, now that things had gone as far as they had, what was SPIKE Spike like “in the sack”.

 

He brought the glasses to his makeshift sink. “Do you want anything?”

 

“What about you? Don’t you want a cigarette or something? I mean, isn’t that what people do after…”

 

He gave her a half shrug and a smile. “Don’t really need it, I’m feeling pretty satisfied. No need to gild the lily.”

 

She knew that was a compliment, but was it coming from Spike or the mannerly Mr. Wright?

 

“Maybe you should have one,” Buffy suggested.

 

He looked at her puzzled.

 

“I mean, maybe it would be fun, you know if you were a Big Bad Vampire and I was the Slayer.”

 

Now he looked more than puzzled. “I thought this thing was only working because we’re playing at me being Mr. Wright.” He took a step towards her. “Now you want me to pretend I’m being Mr. Wright who’s pretending to be…ME?”

 

Role playing that he was role playing himself? This was bloody worse than Willow’s sodding spell, at least that time he was himself, only getting on with Buffy. What the Slayer was asking, was damn crazy.

 

“I don’t know, it’s just that. Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like? You being you and me being the Slayer.”

 

Well, of course, he bloody had. Didn’t the underwear collection prove it? What was she going on about, other than admitting that she’d thought about it too? Well, this WAS getting interesting.

 

“So, you want me to go out that door.” He pointed to the bent wreck of a once very nice, embossed, metal door. “Smoke a cigarette and come back in here as me?”

 

It sounded a little crazy when he put it that way, but when had Spike shied away from crazy? He put up with Drusilla for a century. At least Buffy knew she was pretending. At least she thought she did.

 

Spike was feeling like he actually needed that cigarette now. His mind was having a hard time wrapping around all this. He grabbed a cracked mug and poured himself a generous shot and a half of whiskey and knocked it back. Liquid courage to face what he feared was going to get very painful, and mind bendingly weird.

 

“I suppose you want the coat.”

 

“If you don’t mind.” Buffy nodded.

 

“And you’re going to be dressed like that.” Spike pointed out that she wasn’t exactly in fighting gear, though he definitely liked the look on her.

 

Buffy’s mouth twisted. Yeah, the costume might be a problem.

 

Spike went downstairs and came back a few minutes later dressed in his signature black, wearing his coat and carrying an extra t-shirt, Buffy’s skirt, and a short leather jacket. “Suit up Slayer.” It was the best he could do.

 

She had to roll up the sleeves on the jacket and the t-shirt hung down to her thighs, but she was cute as all get out. He was grateful he didn’t own a mirror because he was quite sure she’d have a hard time playing her “role” if she saw how much she looked like a little girl wearing her daddy’s clothes.

 

“You look quite terrifying,” he assured her, hiding his smirk.

 

“Got any stakes?” She felt in the pocket.

 

Of course, he did but he wasn’t keen on putting one in her hand. There was role-playing and there was role-playing, and he didn’t want to end up playing the contents of a funerary urn if it was all the same to her.

 

She read his face, “Come on, don’t you trust me?”

 

“Remember earlier when I asked about a safe word?”

 

She put her hands on her hips, or where her hips would have been if his jacket wasn’t hanging down over them. She was so damn cute he could barely stand it.

 

“You haven’t needed one yet.”

 

“You haven’t been armed yet,” he pointed out.

 

She thought he was being ridiculous. She had no intention of staking him, at least not unless he…or at least not until they…She had no intention of staking him.

 

“How about time-out?” he suggested, making the T signal with his hands.

 

“We could do football rules. Three timeouts a half and you lose 5 yards for each penalty” She smirked at him.

 

If she was going to start assigning penalties, he’d probably find himself three miles out to sea by morning.

 

He was never going to win with this one. He pulled his smokes out of his pocket, held them up to show her, and stepped out his front door. “Start the clock Slayer.”

 

She’d gone bonkers, but he had to smile. It had been right good fun so far, and he didn’t sense any magic involved. He lit up and took a drag, grinning like the Cheshire cat as he rolled the cigarette between his fingers. Kinky Slayer…

 

When he went back inside, Buffy was sitting on top of the sarcophagus her foot bobbing up and down in agitation. “Where have you been? I swear if I find out you’ve been up to one or your schemes.” She hopped down.

 

She was very convincing, Spike felt his Slayer sensors fire as she stormed towards him. He was glad she was barefooted, if she kicked him it would hurt considerably less.

 

“I was at Willy’s playing poker is all.” Was that the right line or should he have said he’d been out snatching girlies from behind the Bronze and selling them to his demon mates?

 

“Yeah, like I’m going to believe THAT?” She rolled her eyes.

 

“I’ve had a long night and I’m tired Slayer, so say your piece and get out. I’m going to bed,” he growled. “If you’re here for information, I don’t have any.”

 

“I’m HERE,” She stalked towards him “Because my favorite sweater is missing and I have the feeling you know where it is.”

 

He had a hard time not cracking a smile at her 90 pounds worth of pissed off, fashion related fury.

 

“Haven’t seen it.” He went to push past her. Buffy grabbed his coat and swung him around.

 

“I think you have, and you’re going to tell me where it is if I have to beat it out of you.”

 

His skin prickled. “Time out.” He made the signal. “You know, I get the whole role playing thing, but I’m pretty sure my chip here doesn’t understand the difference and I don’t fancy a bomb going off in my head. Has a tendency to kill the mood.”

 

“What if you’re only pretending to hurt me?”

 

“But won’t I be pretending to pretend, not to hurt you?” He couldn’t keep it straight anymore.

 

“Go ahead and try to hit me.” She stuck her little chin out. “Go head, you afraid Spike? Slayer of Slayers? Won’t even try a little punch?” she goaded him.

 

“Time in,” he growled, charging at her. She handily ducked him, which he’d anticipated. He grabbed the bottom of the jacket she was wearing and sent her wheeling towards his couch. She handily flipped over it.

 

What do you know? The chip was equipped for role playing! Now that was happy news. If the bitch ever got testy with him, he’d start channeling Mr. Wright, channeling Spike, and have a go at her.

 

“You mean you were TRYING to hurt me? That was lame, even for you.”

 

Well no, he guessed he hadn’t really been trying, seeing as how she looked about 7 years old, and he didn’t fancy knocking around the bird he’d just bedded twice and hoped to bed again before dawn came knocking.

 

“Bring it on Spike. You’re always going on about how you got what it takes, but I’ve seen it…and I’m not really impressed.” She hadn’t called time out. Was that really her assessment of him? She’d seen the merchandise, tried the merchandise, and found it wanting. What did it bloody take to make her happy?

 

It seemed a bit off that, after what he thought had been some rather noteworthy sex, she thought he hadn’t given her the full treatment. Apparently, he hadn’t gotten the job done, so now she wanted him in game face.

 

Kinky Slayer or insatiable nympho? She had a mouth on her, that’s for sure, a mouth which he could find much nicer uses for than her spewing the usual venom at him. Fucking hell. She thought he didn’t have what it took? That he could please a random bird on a blind date, but not her Holy Highness the Chosen One?

 

“It’s not like you’ve rocked my world either pet. I’ve seen dead Slayer’s more responsive than you.” She asked for Spike, she was going to get him.

 

“God that is sick.” She made the T sign. “Did you actually…I mean, you know, do that to them…after you?”

 

He wasn’t sure if only she was in time-out or they both were.

 

“This would work better if we stayed in character,” he suggested.

 

“Yeah but that’s…” She shuddered with disgust.

 

“Bloody Hell, no. OK.” He was holding his hands in the T sign. “I prefer my women wriggling and screaming.” He put his hands down “The way you’ll be in a minute.” He leaped at her.

 

Buffy put her hands out just in time to throw him over her head and into the crypt wall.

 

“Ow.” Bloody fuck, who was the sadist now?

 

She was coming at him again. Spike leaped to his feet and aimed a punch at her face. When she ducked to get in an undercut of her own, he kicked her feet out from under her and threw himself on her with his full weight.

 

She squirmed to get free.

 

“Well, I’ve got you wriggling. Now I just need to see about the screaming.” He smirked into her face.

 

“You’re a pig, Spike.” She didn’t actually spit at him, but she spewed the words out with such force, that he definitely felt spray on his face.

 

“And you’re a mouthy bitch, Slayer, but that doesn’t make you any less…interesting.” His hand slid down and cupped her crotch, which was delightfully accessible through only a thin skirt and those tiny purple panties.

 

“The only thing you’re going to make me scream is obscenities, you filthy fucking bastard.” She lifted her knee but he rolled free in time.

 

Before she leaped to her feet, he grabbed her ankle and brought her tumbling down on top of him. She smelled delectable, like bubble bath and anger. He grabbed her face and kissed her, without tongue. He was afraid she might bite it off.

 

“Gross.” She pushed herself off of him. “Lips of Spike.”

 

“Don’t like me kissing your mouth Luv?” He got up and strode towards her as she was backing away grimacing. “I’d be happy to put them on your pretty little..”

 

Buffy grabbed a lamp and was about to throw it at his head when he made the T signal.

 

“What now?” Damn, was this game ever going to get anywhere?

 

“Not the lamp. I won it in a game of poker. I’m mighty fond of that lamp. He looked around the crypt…there’s an urn over there.” He nodded toward a high window ledge.

 

Buffy put the lamp down, it was rather nice and went to get the urn. She couldn’t reach it. Damn him! She went onto the balls of her feet and jumped. Spike grabbed her around the middle, catching her mid-leap. She brought her elbow up right into his cheek and heard the gristly sound of impact. She closed her eyes tight and mumbled a quiet “sorry” under her breath. She hadn’t intended to hit him that hard.

 

“Not as sorry as you’re going to be.” He threw her--making sure not to bounce her head on the concrete--onto the top of the sarcophagus and held her hands over her head.

 

“You are NOT a very nice house guest, and someone needs to teach you some manners.”

 

“This isn’t a house, it’s a filthy hole in the ground and what are you doing?”

 

He was looking at her almost reverently. “Admiring what a pretty corpse you’ll be.”

 

Buffy shuddered. She couldn’t tell if he was serious or not, but the look on his face was very convincing. He was looming over her, then bent close. His nose went to her hair, her ear, her neck, breathing in the scent of her, the heat of her, the taste of her as his mouth closed over her pulse point. He wiggled his tongue against her skin.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to bite me?” she reminded him.

 

“What’s the fun in that? I already had a lovely meal tonight and I don’t fancy I’m done with you yet. Saving you for dessert.”

 

She wriggled to get her hands free. Spike stilled her by placing his other hand over her dampening pussy and putting one firm finger against her clitoris.

 

He looked into her eyes. “Now, now Slayer, it’s up to you. Do you want me to turn you on?” He wiggled his finger, “Or off?” He went into game face and bent towards her neck. At the sight of his wrinkled brow, her vamp senses fired. They weren’t usually arousing, but combined with the pressure of his finger and his breath on her neck they were feeding her desire.

 

“Go ahead, bite me,” she said, followed by a quiet gulp.

 

Spike brought her hands down from above her head and nibbled on her wrist. She felt the tiny scratch of his fangs against her skin and tried to pull away. “Ah ah, Slayer,” he warned, increasing pressure of his finger. “My house, my rules.” He took her earlobe into his mouth and suckled it, teasing it against his fang, which snagged on her earring.

 

“Bloody hell.” He went out of game face and freed himself.

 

“Kind of like kids getting their braces stuck together.” She held still until she knew he was free.

 

“Child’s play. You and I are going to get other things stuck together, but I might make it just as hard to get away.” It wasn’t much of a threat.

 

He went back into game face and nipped her neck bloodlessly, for effect. He set her wrists free as he bent to take a nipple into his mouth through the cloth of her t-shirt. He waited for her to force him away, but she didn’t. Strange bird, wouldn’t let a man suck her tits but she’d let a bloody vampire gnaw on them. He wiggled his finger and felt a happy shiver go through her.

 

This was all well and good, and Spike knew he could have good fun ravishing the Slayer. It wasn’t like he’d never thought about it. He’d had delicious, salacious fantasies that would be lovely to act out, game or no game.

 

He should be enjoying this, WOULD be enjoying this if it wasn’t for the niggling disquiet in the corner of his mind. What WAS going on? What was this thing they were doing? Ravishing the Slayer would be better if he knew she was interested in ravishing back. Spike had no interest in playing into some twisted Slayer rape fantasy.

 

He removed his finger from her pussy and his mouth and hands from her breast and made the time-out signal.

 

Buffy’s eyes popped open and she gave him an exasperated glare. She certainly looked in full blown Slayer mode with that near murderous look on her face.

 

“Time-out.” He wanted to be sure who he was dealing with.

 

“Is something wrong?” She pushed up onto one elbow.

 

“You’re Buffy, right? Or do I have to call time-out, time-out?” Last he checked they were into a second level of role play.

 

She looked confused.

 

“I mean, you’re the real Buffy. My--I mean Dawn’s Buffy, not blind date Buffy?”

 

She sat up, frowned, then gave a small shake of her head as if she was shaking off her game face. “What is it, Spike?”

 

He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. He wasn’t sure he wanted to say anything as much as just know what was really going on. Being two steps away from reality, felt more like surfing in shark infested waters than he was comfortable with.

 

Looking into her eyes he wondered if maybe he’d taken her a step back even farther than he intended, because this didn’t quite look like “his” Buffy, either. She seemed more human and approachable, even missing the snarky, though adorable, veneer of the Buffy he was used to, the Buffy he loved.

 

This Buffy was something lovelier still. She looked a bit tired and sad, but there was no hint of anger or the familiar well-tended wall of aloofness. He felt like this was Buffy when she woke in the morning, still half lost in some dream of her childhood, a Buffy who hadn’t yet remembered that she was also the Slayer.

 

She was what Spike would never be again, human. Still, he wondered if it was possible for him to try to take one further step back as well, if not all the way back to William, then to a Spike who was less swagger and more substance. To the Spike he was when he was alone reading on his bed, or sitting on the dock with a cigarette watching the smoke rise.

 

He must have been at least partially successful. Buffy didn’t flinch or back away when he moved to kiss her. He slipped his arms beneath the oversized jacket she was swimming in and wrapped them around her, pulling her closer. Her smile curved beneath his lips, he smiled too. Spike loved being a vampire, but there was a special kind of magic in being a just a man, kissing a woman. He wanted to feel a man’s passion that wasn’t clouded by a vampire’s lust.

 

Stay with me, Buffy. He thought. If she would do that, if she COULD do that, then he might be able to feel the role he was in now, a man, with feelings of love and awe for this tired, wonderful, beautiful woman.

 

She wasn’t squirming away or pulling her lips from his to throw a witty insult. She was just kissing him like it was the only thing she wanted to be doing.

 

The passionate man in him wanted more, so did she. They opened their mouths at the same time, and smiled at their synchronicity, their lips breaking for a moment to release a chuckle. Then they were kissing again, open-mouthed and hungry, yet curiously slow.

 

If they moved too fast, it would be over too soon. They had already worn the edge off the sharp blade of their lust, if it took time to get to the state of panting satiation, that was ok. Maybe more than ok.

 

The movements of Buffy’s tongue as she kissed him, were different from earlier. Their earlier kisses had been amazing, hungry and wild, but this kiss was less like a competition for dominance and more like a dance. Wherever it was headed, it seemed they were content to arrive there together.

 

Their tongues and lips were playing with each other. One would try something and the other repeat the motion like a game, their kiss being punctuated over and over again with smiles that parted them long enough to catch a breath or release a sigh.

 

This was a Buffy he had never dared hoped to exist, and he was a Spike she’d had her suspicions, was hiding under that coat and swagger all along.

 

He reached back far into her mouth and tickled her palate, she wriggled her tongue forward to do the same to his and he broke into something she could only describe as a giggle. The sound he made and the jerk in his chest felt nakedly intimate, much more so than when he’d been fucking her earlier.

 

A lusty Spike, grunting and pumping, wasn’t that far off from a violent Spike, punching, and kicking. A ticklish, giggling Spike was something she was quite certain no one else had witnessed in a very long time.

 

“Like that?” she teased.

 

“No.” He didn’t fancy being tickled till he could no longer kiss. “Well, no and yeah,” he amended because it was nice too. Nice that she’d put her tongue back that far into his mouth, nice that she cared to go exploring, nice to be touched in a way, that he couldn’t remember being touched before.

 

She did it again, but before the tickles took him away from her, she tried a different tack, a softer, rounder tongue poking at his playfully. Got you, you’re it!

 

Their tongues were like two kids at the playground, daring each other, but always in fun, always in jest. There were no bullies there tonight.

 

Buffy pulled back breathlessly after a few minutes. “Time-out,” she half panted, then realized what she’d said. “No I mean, just--time-out from the kiss. You know Spike, one of us does have to breathe.” It wasn’t snarky Buffy, it was still playful Buffy, holding onto his shoulders as she caught her breath.

 

This was, hands down, the most fun she’d ever had kissing anyone. It wasn’t overburdened with feelings or expectations, it was an end in itself. Plain, good, fun.

 

Buffy noted the happy crinkles at the sides of Spike’s eyes. His face was still close enough to notice things she hadn’t before.

 

By now she was well familiar with the planes and dips of his features, the one hundred different smirks he was capable of and every kind of menacing or leering glare, but there were so many aspects she didn’t know.

 

She had studied Spike’s expressions the way one does the visage of an enemy. It was the dynamic of predator and prey, but she saw expressions on him tonight that she hadn’t seen before. He was a different Spike, private, relaxed, and peaceful, with softer eyes, a looser mouth, and a boyish smile. He looked younger when his fists weren’t balled, his muscles weren’t poised for fighting and his tongue wasn’t sharp.

 

He let her catch her breath, but he pulled her close, snuggling her against his chest, hungry for the closeness and easy familiarity. He wanted, he realized, for someone to feel safe in his arms.

 

It went against everything he fought for night in and night out. He wanted demons and humans alike to fear his embrace, knowing that once he had hold of them, the next stop was death. Tonight, he liked it, loved it, that Buffy was here in his arms and not afraid, not trying to get free, not even trying to push against him faster and harder in an effort to reach a climax.

 

“It’s weird that you don’t have a heartbeat,” she noted. She was close enough to him that had he been a man, she would have heard it, and it would have been racing.

 

It made him sad to hear her say it, it reminded them both that they were different, too vastly different for any of this. How could you love a person without a heartbeat? He was lacking, and he had no answer for it, but to kiss her again, and hope that at least for tonight, his lack of beating heart wouldn’t matter too much.

 

Buffy kissed him, but lightly, then pulled her mouth away and gave him what amounted to a hug. She wrapped her arms as far as they would go around him and squeezed.

 

“OW!” She had forgotten her strength, and he hadn’t been prepared for it.

 

“Sorry?” That was what came of letting her guard down. It wasn’t only dangerous for her, it was dangerous for others as well.

 

“It’s ok, didn’t expect it is all. Don’t think you’ve ever hugged me before.” He was squeezing her back, but not at full vampire strength.

 

“Have you hugged your vampire today?” She made a joke of it, but hearing himself called her vampire, even in jest, made him go giddy inside.

 

He wasn’t going to joke back, wasn’t going to say anything about her being the Slayer. Not yet, not now. The last thing he wanted was for her to remember she was supposed to kill him.

 

He sensed the mood was gone. Apparently, the trick was to render her breathless and keep her that way. Still, it was nice, chest to chest beneath the protective shield of their leather coats, they had a secret meeting place.

 

“Can we time back in now?” Buffy requested. “I was liking the fangy vibe,” she admitted.

 

Maybe she did have a kink or three! He always figured she had a thing for vampires because they were strong, and maybe even because they were forbidden, but he hadn’t counted on her being turned on by the near proximity of fangs to her delicate bits. A jolt of desire went through him followed by a prickle of realization. Sure she was the Slayer, and she could hold her own against him, but there had to be a significant level of trust if she’d been willing to let his fangs nibble her nipples. He got hard wondering where else she might let him put them. As much as he’d enjoyed their playful kisses, he too was eager to resume their more dangerous game.

 

Even as she was holding him near, he silently slipped back into game face. She knew instantly, of course, her Slayer senses leaped to a higher state of alert, her arousal following suit.

 

“Game on, Slayer,” he said with the familiar growl in his voice. He pressed his erection into her and she went suddenly wet. Buffy hadn’t ever done it with a vampire when he was fanged out. She wondered if their erections changed too. Were they larger, throbby-er, veiny-er? Would he shoot blood instead of semen?

 

She guessed she was about to find out.

 

Buffy didn’t want to have to repeat the fighting part of their role play again, but it seemed boring to simply resume her position on the sarcophagus and pick up exactly where they’d left off.

 

“I’m such a moron.” She berated herself out loud. “I can’t believe I tossed my stake! Now I’m here without it and I’ve got to deal with YOU!” She sounding frighteningly angry and Spike thought he should pull back. It was too late, she was reaching for the hardest thing she could get her hands on and she meant to use it against him.

 

Her hands were on the button of his jeans, her legs were around his hips. He was already trapped.

 

“Guess I’ll have to borrow yours,” she said with a grunt, yanking down his zipper.

 

“You do realize that it doesn’t come off?” Whatever she was going to do with his cock, she wasn’t going to be plunging it through his heart.

 

“I’m more curious to see it get off,” she admitted frankly. Her legs were tight enough around his hips that when she jerked them down his jeans went with them. It was a good move and they were both impressed.

 

Buffy inspected the merchandise, it did seem a little larger, and it was definitely throbby-er and veiny-er. Spike had no heart beat but his dick was clearly pulsing in a mesmerizing rhythm. Men’s brains might be in their dicks, but apparently, it’s where vampires hid their hearts.

 

The mere pressure of her gaze on the tight skin of his cock was enough to cause a dribble of excitement to escape from the tip.

 

“Hey! He’s happy to see me!” Buffy looked up triumphantly into Spike’s golden eyes.

 

“He’d be very happy to give you an enthusiastic, if not very warm, welcome,” Spike assured her, pushing towards her.

 

Buffy stayed him by placing her hands on the base of his erection. She was undisputedly in control now. She ran one hand upwards and rubbed the glistening drips around the head of his shaft with the pad of her thumb.

 

A low growl rose from his chest, but they both knew it wasn’t from anger. She felt the skin of his cock twitch and could feel his balls rising against her lower hand. She slipped it down to cup them.

 

“Bloody hell Slayer, if you’re teasing me.” His tone was angry and a tiny bit threatening, but a fondle or two and he was humming and purring in her hands.

 

In one easy movement, he shrugged off his coat and put his hands on her shoulders. His first thought was to put them on her head, but that was probably courting danger. She might consider it over presumptuous and decide to test out the theory that his cock wasn’t removable.

 

“Come on, Spike.” She sounded very much like snarky quipping Buffy “If I was playing with you, you’d know. And if I was going to hurt you, you’d know.” Instead of hurting him she repeated the fondle and swirl.

 

“Whatever you’re going to do, you’d better bloody well do it before this blows up in your face.” He quipped right back. They shared a grin.

 

“I guess since you’re a vampire, you won’t mind if I use my teeth.” She bent her head and ran the fronts of her teeth around the head of his cock. This time it didn’t twitch, it jerked, and Spike whispered an expletive.

 

She dragged the cutting edges of her incisors lightly over the slick flesh.

 

“God damn, always knew you were a mouthy bitch.”

 

Her tongue joined in the fun. Spike had never gotten a blow job, vamped out, from a warm willing woman. Dru knew her way around his body, and a very nice way it was, but it was also a room temperature way. When Buffy slipped her mouth over the head of his dick, with her playful tongue, doing its lovely playful things, Spike decided it didn’t much matter if vampires went to heaven or not, he was getting a sample of it right here and now.

 

Buffy very much liked the reactions she was getting out of him. It was erotic and exciting and it made her want more. This was so much better than Riley’s reaction when she’d first gone down on him. “Are you sure? I mean, you don’t have to.” And “thank you.”

 

Who wants to hear “thank you” in bed? Not Buffy, she wanted to hear exactly what Spike was saying as his hands moved to her head. “Oh fuck yes, do that again.”

 

She did it again and a few other things too. There was only so much turned on vampire she could fit into her mouth, so she made up the difference with her hands, squeezing, pumping and fondling, and responding to Spike’s eager direction as he adjusted the depth and rhythm with his hands on her head and with the thrust of his hips. The key to getting a job done right is teamwork. It’s very important to keep the lines of communication open.

 

She could tell he was getting close, and unwillingly slipped him out of her mouth and squeaked, “Time-out”.

 

He looked down at her in distress. Was she going to stop him NOW?

 

“I just want to know, you’re not going to shoot blood or anything are you?” She definitely looked worried.

 

Spike had to smile at that. “No blood, promise.”

 

She nodded in relief. “Time-in.” She went back to the very lovely task at hand and mouth. She was SO good at it.

 

Mouthy bitch indeed. At first, he had watched her, it looked so very, very good, but it grew too distracting. He closed his eyes and let his brain melt into a blackness that was punctuated with flashes of light, green, red, gold, pulsing in time with her eager hands and sucking mouth. His heightened senses didn’t miss a single experimental swirl of her tongue or gentle scrape of her teeth. It was glorious and warm, so warm…

 

Twice he felt his surge rising and willed it back into submission, hoping to last another 30 seconds more. The second time he settled for 15 seconds, then he let go.

 

There was so much glorious sensation, her mouth so soft and her hands so firm. He allowed himself to watch her those last few painfully perfect seconds before he came with a roar that was followed by rumbling, throaty pants.

 

Buffy had known he was getting close. She was certain she could have discerned it, even under normal circumstances, but with him vamped out she was that much more alert to his every breath, sound, and spasm of his muscles.

 

She had been able to feel the crackling energy leaping off his skin, causing the hairs on her forearms and the back of her neck to prickle to attention. Just before he came, she had felt a tiny seepage of fluid trickle onto the back of her tongue, a harbinger of what was to come. And come he did, with a sound that was terrifying and sexy.

 

His semen spurted, collecting at the back of her throat even as she swallowed it down. Spike pulled back slightly and the last of it pooled on her tongue. It tingled. A delightful electric fizz bloomed in her mouth. She swallowed the last of it, but the sensation remained and chased down her throat in a cool feathery tickle.

 

Spike was half laughing as he staggered back slightly. It was the delighted sort of laugh you’d hear from a man who had not only escaped an expected tragedy but was marveling at a tremendous stroke of luck besides.

 

Buffy was smiling, enjoying the sight and sound of him as she wiped the corners of her mouth and enjoyed the fading thrill of his semen at the back of her palate. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it hadn’t been that. She wondered why it was different when he was vamped out. She certainly would have felt these sparkling tingles inside her earlier if they were present in his normal emission.

 

Spike had stumbled forward now and was leaning with his hands on the sarcophagus.

 

“It tingles.” She smiled. He looked at her, confused. Tingle wasn’t the word he’d have chosen. What he felt was larger than any tingle. It was a surging, roaring, beautiful eruption, nothing tingly about it. Then he notices she had her fingers to her lips.

 

“You mean?” He pointed to the last few drops of cum that had dribbled out and were clinging to the head of his cock.

 

From the look on her face, it was a good thing. All the better if the conclusion had made her happy too!

 

He really wanted to make her happy too. Very, very happy.

 

Spike pulled his jeans back over his hips and leaned over to pick up his coat, he motioned for Buffy to hop down from the sarcophagus where he lay it down, doubled up to provide some protection from the grain of the stone. It wasn’t that he thought of the Slayer as thin skinned, but even a vampire has the manners to take care of his lady.

 

He lifted her up in an easy sweep and set her down onto his coat. Her smile bloomed and he guessed this one was due to anticipation, not just tingles. There was likely another pair of lips that were feeling sparkly just about now.

 

Spike gathered the drops on the end of his cock with his thumb and lifted his hand where Buffy could see it. He wiggled his thumb at her and she seemed to read his mind. Buffy parted her legs, and wiggled out of the tiny purple panties, watching breathlessly as his hand neared her. She hissed with pleasure as his thumb came to rest on her clitoris, spreading the cool semen there before slipping down and entering her already weeping pussy. His thumb was thick and cool and curved just so. He slid it in slowly, with a slow twist, spreading the sparkling sensation in a deepening spiral inside her.

 

Buffy had sat up and was pushing herself onto his hand, urging his thumb deeper. She grabbed at his shoulder for support, the fabric of his shirt wrinkled in her hands.

 

Encouraged by her motions and mutterings he worked his thumb in deeper and wriggled the last joint of it, the knuckle hitting a spot inside her that brought forth a stuttering hum from her throat.

 

“Still tingles?” he asked, his fangs close to her ear.

 

She nodded furiously, and sat up just a little straighter, tilting the angle of her hips so his knuckle hit her sweet spot with an accuracy that was nearly painful in its sweetness.

 

“Spike.” His name escaped breathily from her lips.

 

“Slayer?” He loved what he was doing to her, the way her warm flesh closed around his thumb, the way she pressed into him. She grabbed blindly for his shoulder so she could hold herself in position, but he wanted to do more for her still. “Lay back.” He nudged her head with his cheek.

 

She made a tiny sound of protest, but she was moving as instructed, not loosening her grip on his shirt. He smiled at her need and her pleasure, and at what he planned to do next.

 

She lay back but closed her thighs around his forearm so he couldn’t get away. She only parted them when his other hand slid over her thigh, and he singsonged, “Slayer, Slayer…let me in…”

 

She hesitated only a second as she examined his vampire countenance, and questioned the wisdom of what she was about to do. Those fangs were moving perilously close to parts of her that she didn’t want to count on Slayer healing to preserve. He was already parting her thighs, his second thumb working into place beside the first.

 

“No,” she said, not because she wanted him to stop, but because this was impossible, what he was doing, the way it felt. He was opening her gently, working the tingling magic of his cream deep into her soft yielding flesh. He was feeling the inside of her, filling the inside of her, the heels of his hands firm against her bottom with a lovely solid pressure.

 

Next, she felt what she guessed, were his forefingers, opening her folds, making way for the lips and tongue she already knew the skill of.

 

No. Her mind fought against the surge of sensation as his cool, soft tongue flickered out and pressed against her. No, no, no. This was impossible. Nothing could feel like this. Nothing. So full, so perfect. The pressure was perfect inside, perfect front and back. She didn’t even wiggle, or thrust, or move. She didn’t need to, everything was right, flawless…impossible.

 

Spike did move making it imperfect, the way it had to be so it could build and grow. His thumbs worked their way in and around, the meaty heels of them jockeying for position against her bottom. She could no longer differentiate one from the other as they wriggled inside her, their knuckles pattering a washboard rhythm against her nerve endings. All of it was seasoned with the electric tingles of his semen, giving the sensation of warmth in spite of his cool skin.

 

She didn’t think she could feel his tongue now, but she was more than aware of his lips, moving, kissing, reverent more than hungry. They were soft and sensitive, and maddeningly not hitting the spot that was screaming for attention. They were everywhere but there.

 

She felt something hard and smooth on her flesh. Spike pressed his mouth against her, for a moment, harder than he should have, sending her a message, reminding her who she was dealing with. He pressed his tongue behind his fang so she could feel the outline of it against the sensitive flesh of her pussy. First one, then the other.

 

They were right there. So close. Be careful how you move Slayer, be very, very careful, because one wrong thrust and she might find herself feeding a very happy vampire, who would gladly suckle away her life as he sent her surging into an orgasm.

 

Her Slayer senses fired. Heat burst forth in a pattern across her cheeks, and chest, she felt the sting against the back of her neck. Danger, vampire, very close, ready for action. Carefully, slowly, she pushed against his mouth, his lips, his fangs….his tongue, oh yes, yes, finally his tongue.

 

Oh god Spike, I love you. The words slipped like liquid silver through the creases of her brain, she was so grateful for the release. He was no longer holding her on the knife edge of pleasure but was tonguing her now, kissing and licking and nibbling, one thumb slipping free so he could use the hand to grab her thigh, to hold her where he needed her to be.

 

She thought for a sweet hot moment, that she forgave Riley for saying thank you in bed, because she knew, right then, why he’d said it. He’d felt like this. Just like this…sweet melting relief and he’d been grateful. She loved Spike right then, for being there, for knowing what she needed, for every perfect flicker of his tongue and for the way his thumb was jerking inside of her.

 

In that moment, he was the perfect lover, giving her what she wanted before she knew she wanted it, drawing a warm sweet heat out of her, and doing something with his bottom lip that she wished she had a name for so she would know what to call it when she needed him to do it again.

 

How could he know? Was her last coherent thought before her brain took off in a lusty gallop. How the fucking hell did he know…what would make her weep with pleasure, hum with desire and make her need his tongue and lips more than she needed air.

 

She was sure she had stopped breathing. She must have. It was too much to have to take in breath and deal with the flood of sensation that was too big to sort through. Her mind could no longer differentiate, nor did it try, between warm and cool, hard and soft, fast and slow, pressure and…more pressure.

 

She was too close now. She wouldn’t let him pull away enough to leave even a hair’s breadth of space between them. He could press, and he could press harder, but he could not retreat.

 

Then she was coming. She knew she’d been close, but it caught her unaware and she was suddenly tumbling, already over the edge and grappling for hold. Pressure and more pressure, and then things went soft again as he slowly let her down, his thumb less deep, his tongue less insistent, his lips, soft and gentle and kissing her, tenderly. With a soft smack, he pulled away, kissing her once more like a mother kisses a child’s forehead when the tears have ended.

 

He left his thumb in her until she was done until the last shudders had subsided, then he withdrew slowly, slowly, then he was gone.

 

She felt unbearably…angry. It was an insult, this lack of pressure, this lack of sensation, lack of...Then she was full again. Spike was thrusting his swollen cock up into her, filling her more than his thumb, than both thumbs had, and deeper and more purposefully.

 

They had explored her, pleasured her, but his cock rammed into her with a possessive force, with a need that his hands had lacked. They had thrilled to touch her, but that hadn’t needed her, like this. They hadn’t surged with ringing, racing pleasure, or pounded for release. It felt like he was knocking again and again at a door inside her, banging for her to open it, to allow him his release.

 

Buffy didn’t want to miss this. She wanted to see his vampire face, first contorted with need, then softening with pleasure, but it was hard for her to hang on, to keep her eyes open, to not get caught up in his rhythm.

 

It didn’t seem possible that she could come again, but something was building in her just the same. Every time he knocked, she felt something in her push back it kept pushing back until he hit it just right.

 

Buffy gasped at the incredible sense of fullness right before the door splintered, and Spike burst through, “Oh!” the word escaped from her throat, as she absorbed the impact of him, and his pleasure. As if there was too much for him to bear alone, it poured out into her. She rode his overflow with a shudder.

 

When she remembered to open her eyes, it was too late. He was done, and she would never know if his eyes had glowed red, or if his fangs had shone like gold. As she watched, the ridges of his forehead seemed to roll before flattening out, his eyes darkened to their familiar blue, and his fangs showed white and sharp as he opened his mouth to gasp for breath. As Spike came to himself again, they were the last thing to recede.

 

Buffy felt the electric thrill of his semen inside her, like a thin film of singing, dancing pleasure between them.

 

Spike met her eyes, man now, vampire having receded as his erection flagged. Their eyes met and they smiled, their grins both shy and sly but mostly pleased and proud. This was something, this thing they’d created, this surge of palpable pleasure born from their shared desire, and they were proud.

 

He slipped out of her. “That was bloody brilliant,” he declared their Vampire/Slayer love game a success.

 

“OMG Spike.” She struggled to sit up. He offered his forearms and she raised herself on them. She put her arms around him. She couldn’t just lay there looking at him, panting through the afterglow. She needed to feel him solid and real and trusted.

 

She’d felt lonely once he had pulled out of her, too empty and uncertain. The solid bulk of him in her arms was reassuring. He slipped his arms around her and rocked her a tiny bit. “It was brilliant,” she agreed. She could still feel the fizzy brilliance inside.


	4. Why Two Vampires are Better Than One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a snack, they decide to change up the role play by going at it Vamp to Vamp style. The Slayer discovers she has hidden talents!

Chapter 4: Why Two Vampires are Better Than One

 

 

After a few minutes of snuggly silence, Buffy gave Spike a poke in the belly. “Now do you need a cigarette?” she teased.

 

Need? Nah, but he wouldn’t mind one. Of course, that would involve letting go of her and putting his pants on. Seemed like a lot of work for a smoke. She poked him again and he realized this was a command, not a question. sigh

 

Either she wasn’t done with Swagger Spike role play, or she thought this would be the perfect ending.

 

Spike pulled away, yanked his pants up, and went to his sink to wash his face and get a drink of water. He retrieved his smokes and lighter from his coat pocket. Buffy was frowning at the twist of purple fabric in her hands. Her undies, such as they were, appeared to be half inside out, with a full twist, and a near knot.

 

“You don’t happen to have another pair?” she asked hopefully. He took them from her. In a moment he had them sorted out.

 

“How’d you do that?”

 

“Used to play cat’s cradle as a boy.” He noticed her face was blank. “String game?” he tried. One of her brows shot up in interest, the other wrinkled in confusion.

 

“One of the polite evening activities that boys were allowed to partake of with girls. I was damned good at it. Long fingers.” He wiggled them at her.

 

She smiled. She was pleasantly aware of his long fingers, the better to untangle panties with, and very good at other things as well. If this cat’s cradle game he spoke of, was an exercise in dexterity, she should make sure he kept in practice. It would be a shame if he lost any of his prodigious skills.

 

As Spike stood smoking in front of his crypt, he listened to the cars passing on the near border of the cemetery. The far side of the cemetery backed into woods. He knew those woods as well as he knew the paths of the cemetery and the layout of Sunnydale’s storm sewers. He both loved and hated how well he knew this damn town. He hated that he’d stayed long enough to be made a fool of, to lose Dru, to get the bloody chip, and to fall hopelessly in love with a woman, who was so much more than any woman he’d ever known, that he was quite sure falling out of love wasn’t an option. Not after tonight.

 

He might have been able to convince himself that he was no longer in love with her, had tonight never happened. He might have been able to believe the ugly words she and her friends used to describe his feelings: fascination, obsession, infatuation, crush as if he was a sodding school boy who didn’t know the difference between a pretty girl and an amazing woman.

 

It was an insult to Buffy, really, them maintaining that he couldn’t feel love for her simply because he was a vampire. Even if the average vampire, which he was NOT, wasn’t capable of love under normal circumstances, a woman like Buffy was magnificent enough to call forth nobler feelings, and raise even a shell of a demon to a state above anything he had a right to.

 

Dear god, she was bringing out the sap in him. He guessed the poet in him would never truly be dead and buried, and it was just as well. A lesser vampire would likely hate Buffy for the emotions she brought forth, but he had enough of a stubborn poet’s soul in him to love the feelings nearly as much as he loved the woman.

 

He didn’t really, hadn’t ever really, believed love was a poncy way to feel, though sometimes it had made an idiot of him. Love, when it was true, was a noble thing, a higher calling, a richly layered delight for the senses and the soul.

 

Funny thoughts to be having sitting on a gravestone, the scent of a woman still heavy on his face, fingers, and some other parts of his anatomy, in spite of the quick rinse off. Don’t think, just don’t think...yet. He warned himself. Let it be, just the way it is, right now and for as long as it lasts.

 

He wondered what she was up to in there. She must have sent him away for a reason, some woman’s thing or another. He didn’t think it was because she planned to dress quickly and hurry off, via the sewers, to her lonely bed. He didn’t rush his smoke. Maybe she needed a mental “smoke”. To think, or not think. To gather her wits... but in a nice way.

 

He bent his neck, rolled it and worked his shoulders He stretched out his fingers and wiggled them and twisted his wrists, working out any kinks. It served to remind him that he’d earned every kink in his muscles, and vague fleeting ache in his joints, in the loveliest way possible. He wouldn’t mind feeling this way every damned night, truth be told.

 

……………………

 

Buffy had made her way downstairs. She washed up a bit and checked to see if the bed was warm yet. Mmmm, very nice! She brought the candelabras from the tub area back into the “bedroom”. The candles were burning disappointingly low. She felt a flutter of panic. When the candles burned out, maybe it would all be over. Like Cinderella, she’d lost her shoes, and she was certain it was after midnight. This fairy tale had to come to an end one way or another. Sunnydale, being more a town of nightmares than fairytales, was famous for its spectacular endings.

 

Maybe a demon would rush in the back entrance or Xander would come pounding through Spike’s off-kilter front door with some dire news about Dawn, or Buffy would go upstairs and find Spike was a pile of dust because he pissed off the wrong guy in a poker game.

 

Maybe, when the candles burned out, it would be business as usual again. In spite of herself, she gave a yawn, estimating that the time must be about 12:45. She had enough experience with late nights to be able to guess the time based on the length and frequency of her yawns, and the rumbles in her tummy. She hadn’t been staking vamps all night, but she’d definitely worked up an appetite, in spite of the large, sumptuous meal earlier. It was snack time. Spike liked to eat, he must have something yummy around somewhere.

 

He also appeared to be quite tidy, so the somewhere was probably upstairs in his makeshift kitchen. She headed up the ladder. The crypt smelled faintly of smoke and cola. Spike must be peckish too. He was in the kitchen area pouring soda into a mug and a jam jar. “One of those for me?” Buffy announced her arrival.

 

He raised the jam jar in one hand and a bag of cheese puffs in the other. “Will these suit? I also have Funyans.”

 

“Yes, on the cola, a big NO on the Funyans.” Onion breath and kissing?Worlds of no. They’d both tasted of garlic earlier, from their meal, but it wasn’t a problem when it was mutual.

 

Buffy took the cola AND the chips. “Hey, how come you can eat food with garlic in it?” 

 

“It’s less effective when it’s been cooked and I’ve gotten used to it. Exposure over time. Shame it doesn’t work that way with Holy Water.” He frowned. He hadn’t actually tested the theory. Maybe Holy Water lost its zing when boiled, or maybe it turned into a cloud of deadly steam.

 

Buffy settled into Spike’s chair, chugged some cola and reached into the chip bag.

 

“Ahem..” He stood over her expectantly. She held the bag out to him. “Ahem,” he repeated.

 

“What? I’m sharing.”

 

Spike rolled his eyes, set his drink down and picked her up. He settled both of them into the chair, Buffy nestled in his lap. Now they could both reach the bag. Buffy seemed satisfied with the arrangement. She laid her head back against his arm as she munched happily through another cheese puff, nibbling it down like a bunny with a carrot, making the most of its noisy crunch.

 

“That’s the best part,” she informed him when she noticed he was inspecting her method. “Texture, you know? It’s like eating cheesy air, but better because it’s crunchy!”

 

He didn’t think Buffy had ever been this comfortable around him, not even when they were engaged. Maybe that was to be expected, what with a wedding to plan and all. This was Happy Buffy, chilled out after sex, not a demon, save himself, in sight. No demanding Dawn, no bickering friends.

 

He settled back farther into his chair. He could get used to this, so very used to this. He loved the sound of her voice when she was silly, and wondered why she put so much energy into acting indignant and self-righteous. Couldn’t she see how much better it was this way?

 

He knew he was being unfair, this woman so often had the weight of the world, as well as her own concerns, on her shoulders. Of course, she needed a shell of some kind to protect herself.

 

“Spike.” She gave him a poke in the chest. “Fang out.”

 

Good god, what did she want now? Much as he loved sexing her up, he’d been hoping for enough downtime to finish his soda. She gave him the kind of look, that he knew better than to ignore. He dropped his fangs but passed on the forehead and eyes.

 

“Open.” She pointed a cheese puff at him like a queen would point her scepter at a lowly subject. She impaled a cheese puff onto each of his fangs, grinning, ridiculously delighted with her work. Buffy sat up and popped one of the puffs from his fang with her lips and munched happily. “101 uses for a vampire!” she said triumphantly.

 

Spike maneuvered the remaining puff into his mouth with his tongue and ate it. “So how many of those uses have I demonstrated tonight?” he asked cheekily.

 

She didn’t exactly blush, but her cheek grew pleasantly rosy and warm. “You’re handier than I gave you credit for,” she allowed, reloading his fangs.

 

“I live to serve.” The words came out somewhat garbled, but the intent was clear. He closed his mouth and Buffy retrieved the exposed ends of the puffs in a sort of awkward, cheesy kiss.

 

Spike defanged. Sitting there with Buffy, feeding each other cheese puffs, he felt an unexpected pang. He’d held such disdain for her friends and their youthful, tedious behavior, yet he suddenly wished he’d had what they had. He wondered what it would have been like to go to high school with them. What would it have been like to have easy friends, to take Buffy on dates to dances, and do silly things like this? Buffy hadn’t been out of high school long. She was so strong that he forgot that, in many ways, she was still a girl.

 

He liked that in this moment, she was content to be both a girl and a woman with him. Best of all, she was enjoying the boy and the man in him as well.

 

She yawned again. “Tired?” he checked.

 

“Maybe a little.” She snuggled against him. He about died with how good it felt to have her seeking closeness, rather than putting distance between them.

 

Buffy couldn’t entirely suppress the startled look of concern when she leaned her head into his chest and heard no heartbeat. She’d gotten used to Riley’s abnormally strong ba-bump. The silence was a stark, and definitive, reminder of what Spike was, and what he wasn’t.

 

This night had been and continued to be, nothing short of amazing, but the fact remained, Spike was a vampire. No amount of role-playing could alter that, but it could alter how much it mattered. For a few hours, it hadn’t much mattered. Maybe it didn’t have to matter for a few more.

 

“Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be the Slayer?” Buffy asked him.

 

“Don’t have to. I SEE what it’s like, watching you. Damn hard, dangerous.”

 

She shrugged. “Sometimes it’s not so bad.” Other times it sucked and then some.

 

“You ever wondered what it would be like to be a vampire?” He turned her question back on her. Had she ever considered what things were like for HIM?

 

Not that he was complaining, before he got this chip in his head, being a vampire was the most glorious thing he could imagine. He hadn’t bothered imagining much else, he’d been too busy having fun. Now, with the chip making fun that much less of an option, he’d had to consider lots of things, and find new ways to fill his time and occupy his thoughts.

 

It sounded lame as all get out, and he’d not admit it to a single soul, but he’d taken up reading again. He’d enjoyed it as a man, and he was enjoying it now. The Big Bad vampire loved curling up with a good book. Well, it was something to do, wasn’t it?

 

“Before I met you, I figured being a vampire sucked,” she admitted. “I mean none of the vampires I met were happy. Look at Angel and the Master. Even Dracula didn’t seem like he was having a very good time.”

 

“It’s an art, like everything. Like Slaying. You can be miserable, but you don’t have to be. When you’re good at it, it’s easy to enjoy your work.” He shrugged. “What’s not to like?”

 

“I guess life is pretty sweet when you don’t have a pesky conscience,” Buffy said with a sigh.

 

“Damn right it is.” A smile curved his mouth. Buffy could swear she saw his fangs peeking out. “We’ve had fun tonight, yeah? No pesky conscience.”

 

Buffy hadn’t really thought of it that way, but he had a point. They were role playing, essentially let’s pretend and hang the consequences. Tomorrow is another day. “Not a conscience in sight.” She munched thoughtfully on the cheese puff he handed her.

 

“So what would you do if you were a vampire? Without a chip of course.”

 

“And no conscience.” That was the part she liked best.

 

“Goes without saying. Who would you bite first?”

 

“Present company included?”

 

“You saying you’d go for me?” He wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or that the first thing on her agenda, sans morals, would be to get rid of the biggest pain in the ass she could think of.

 

Buffy nailed down the parameters. “I’m Buffy the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers.” She sat up straight in his lap. “And YOU,” She slapped his chest. “Are Willy the Vampire Slayer!”

 

“Willy?”

 

“Billy?”

 

His look said, “I don’t think so.”

 

“Spikey?”

 

“Slayer, let’s just go with Slayer.” It was too bad for her that she had to go through life with a name like Buffy, but he’d be damned if he was going to adopt some twitty moniker, especially since their role play was intended to have a happy ending. Did she fancy getting taken down by a Willy or Billy?

 

Buffy took two cheese puffs and tucked them under her upper lip. “All shet!” she announced through her shocking orange fangs.

 

“Bloody hell. I’d like to see you smoke with those things.”

 

“Nof all phamfires schvoke.”

 

“No, but they do all drink blood.” He lifted her off his lap and set her on the ground. “I’ll go fix you a glass.”

 

“No thank you, I’ve smelled that stuff, I’m going straight to the source. Gonna catch me a big mocha latte with legs!” She rubbed her hands together eagerly, then proceeded to eat her fangs.

 

“Do you mind if I have one?” He held up a glass of blood.

 

“That’s kind of out of character, what with you being the Slayer and all.”

 

“OK, time-out.” He made the signal. “I could use a pick me up, the night’s taken a bit out of me and,” He offered her his least Slayer-like grin, “the night’s not over yet.”

 

She could see his point. A stake was only as good as it was strong. “You get your weapons ready.” Buffy frowned down at her clothing.

 

“You wanna borrow the coat?” He eyed her over the top of his glass. She was so damned cute in his t-shirt and jacket. She’d be swimming in his coat, and much too adorable to kill, but she’d be very tempting to stake.

 

A frown haunted the corners of his mouth. He could “stake” her all he wanted, but he doubted even his best efforts tonight, were going to pierce her heart. Still, friends was good, and they were friends. Tonight was proof of it. Friends were who you played with, and better to have her play with him than toy with him. He’d been on the receiving end of her dubious attention before.

 

“I think the coat’s still...damp.” Buffy wrinkled her nose at it. They’d ridden it pretty hard. “I am kind of thirsty…” she said, watching him drain his glass in satisfaction.

 

“Got this!” He waved a whiskey bottle in the air.

 

She made a face.

 

“Come on, live a little. You’re evil now. The least you can do is have a drink,” he encouraged her.

 

“I thought being evil was supposed to be fun. Apparently, all you do is engage in disgusting habits.” She rolled the sleeves of the jacket up a little further.

 

“Bad habits,” he corrected her. “And not all bad habits are disgusting.”

 

“Oh, excuse me while I wank off.” She smirked.

 

Spike put his hand over his ribcage, that barb had hit home. Enough of this!

 

“Time-in.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, not caring about the streak of blood it left on his cheek. Slayers weren’t put off by blood or guts. His eyes swept around the area for something stake-like.

 

“Looking for one of these?” Buffy the vampire pulled a stake out of the pocket of her jacket, tossed it into the air and caught it mid spin.

 

“Looks like you’ll need one.” He looked her up and down. “Ugly thing like you. If that stake doesn’t end up in your heart, at least you’ll have something to take to bed with you that you can shove up your--”

 

Buffy made a T with the stake and one hand. “Hey, I would never say something like that! Not even to a vampire.”

 

Spike threw his head back in laughter, “Are you kidding me? The mouth on you? There’s nothing you wouldn’t say, ‘specially to a vampire.”

 

“I comment on their smell, and hair and clothes, and how ridiculously stupid they are, but I never comment on their sex lives.”

 

“You’ve commented on mine,” he corrected her.

 

“Only because YOU bring it up all the time.”

 

They glared at each other. “OK, no sexual commentary,” Spike agreed.

 

Buffy raised her chin with a triumphant smile. “Time-in!”

 

Spike made the time-out signal.

 

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Now what?”

 

“Does this mean next time you and I are fighting, I mean the real Buffy and Spike, and you start with your foul mouth, I can call time-out?”

 

“Are you always this much of a baby? Can’t take a joke? What’s the matter Slayer, can’t get anyone to part their dimpled knees for you?”

 

“We’re ON a TIME-OUT!” he reminded her.

 

“YOU’RE on a time-out, I’m still a bad, rude vampire.” She smirked. “As Slayer, you should know better than to trust me.”

 

Spike wondered if he could possibly be this annoying. She wasn’t doing much with the evil but she was aceing annoying. He was starting to wish she’d just suck his blood and be done with it.

 

“Time-in,” he said, slowly and deliberately, before he leaped at her. She thought she was still talking to Spike, the chattering vampire. Now she was dealing with a very brassed off Slayer.

 

She brought the stake up automatically to defend herself.

 

“Hey now! You’re a vampire remember?”

 

“You should talk, Mr. Fangy.” She pointed to his forehead. At the sight of the stake coming at him, he’d morphed into game face.

 

“This is never going to work.”

 

“No, come on. We’re two intelligent people. Well, OK we’re ONE intelligent people and one reasonably, maybe not intelligent, but crafty…” She didn’t want to give up the role play. She hadn’t gotten the chance to bite him yet.

 

Spike shook off his vamp face and rubbed his temple. The chip hadn’t fired, but he’d felt it vibrate in his head.

 

“Are you OK?” Buffy looked a little concerned. She was pretty sure that a blinding headache would affect his performance in the sack.

 

In one swift move, he divested her of the stake. “I feel fine,” he assured her as he swept her feet out from under her. “Dammit!” He held his head again. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, what was wrong with the thing?

 

“What’s the matter, Slayer? Old war wound acting up, or do you just not have the stones to take me down?”

 

“Even with this sodding chip firing, I’d have a better comeback than that.”

 

“I’m sure you would have. You’ve always been more bark than bite.” She imitated one of his signature smirks.

 

Spike lifted the stake. “I’ll give you a three-second head start…”

 

“Don’t need it.” Lightning fast, she went for his wrist with one hand and lifted her leg to kick him in the chest.

 

He yanked his wrist back and she fell to the floor with a whoomp.

 

“You're a bloody awful vampire.” Spike brought the stake to her chest easily. “Any last requests before I shove it in?”

 

“You mean the bent splintery stake in your pants or the one you’re holding in your hand?”

 

“God, the mouth on you!”

 

“Don’t you wish you had the chance to find out what else it can do?” She was sure she’d heard Spike say exactly that to her when she’d once commented on something long and hard that he carried in his pocket.

 

Spike jammed the stake sideways, between her teeth, completely shocking her, while serving the dual duty of shutting her up.

 

She jerked her head back and forth and made a noise that vaguely sounded like “no fair”.

 

“Looks like you won’t be able to call time-out,” he said with a satisfied grin.

 

Buffy glared at him. This was something of a stalemate, after all, there weren’t too many things Slayers did with vampires other than staking them.

 

He was straddling her, drumming his fingers slowly on her breastbone. Buffy felt a slight tremor of fear. Spike winced, then looked at her with concern. Something had made his chip twitch. He pulled the stake out of her mouth. “You OK?”

 

She wore a look of terror and shook her head. Spike’s eyebrows gathered and he got off of her.

 

“What do they teach you in Slayer school these days?” Buffy said, springing at him. “You fell for the oldest trick in the book.”

 

“You bitch!” He threw up his arm to fend her off. She grabbed it and sent him flying into the sarcophagus. “That bloody hurt!” This time his head was throbbing from the outside pain.

 

“I guess it’s time to put you out of your misery.” Buffy loomed over him. “It won’t hurt...much.”

 

Spike made a calculated, perhaps poncy, but also potentially brain-saving, decision. He was going to let her win. May as well camp it up a bit.   
“Oh vampire, I’ll do anything if you’ll only spare my life. I’ll give you anything you want,” he said in a high, mocking imitation of a woman’s voice.

 

“Did any of your Slayers actually beg for mercy?” Buffy was disgusted at the thought. She’d never resort to that, NEVER!

 

“I’ll let you have my stuffed toys, my kitten posters, even my make-up and shoes!” he went on.

 

Buffy suppressed a giggle. She bent down and grabbed his crotch “Even your family jewels?” she said, menacingly.

 

“If you insist.” He was suddenly all man again. Something was firing in him, but it wasn’t the chip.

 

Buffy leaned in towards his neck. Before she sank her teeth in, she whispered, “I hear Slayer blood is something of an aphrodisiac.”

 

Yes, it was, but so was having his neck bitten by a very beautiful, if somewhat poor excuse for, a vampire.

 

For a minute he forgot who he was, Slayer, or vampire. He felt heat in all the right places, her hand on his groin, her mouth on his neck and a good bit of her warm body pressing against his cool one. Well, if they did the whole “two become one” thing, he guessed it wouldn’t matter which one of them was which.

 

Buffy was biting pretty damn hard, not that he minded, but if she wasn’t careful she was likely to draw blood. He didn’t think she’d care for that. On the other hand, he was rather curious to see the effect vampire blood had on a Slayer. He guessed it wouldn’t make them horny. It was likely to make them violent. In a move of self-protection, he unwillingly shoved her off of him, with considerable pain, as her mouth and teeth were determined to hang onto his neck.

 

“Hey!”

 

“Did you think I was just going to lay there and let you drain me?”

 

“I thought we’d gotten to the good part!” She pouted.

 

Spike put his hand to his neck then checked his finger, no blood. Good.

 

“You promised me your jewels,” she reminded him.

 

“Back off, you can have them, but the deal was I left with my life.”

 

“Yeah, but not your pride because, seriously Spike, begging was pathetic.”

 

He made the time-out signal. Buffy put her hands on her hips, clearly unimpressed. She thought he was wimping out again. He wasn’t.

 

Spike stepped towards her, grabbed her and put his mouth on her neck. “I’ll show you how it’s done, you bossy little chit.” He growled as his fang nicked her skin.

 

His chip didn’t fire. Buffy wasn’t afraid, she was turned on. He certainly wasn’t hurting her.

 

Spike took her hand and placed it over his swelling erection. He suckled at the nick he’d made in her neck and felt sweet intoxicating heat pour into him. It didn’t take much.

 

“It’s a damn, fucking perfect, aphrodisiac.” He released her neck and undid the snap and zipper on his jeans.

 

Buffy swallowed hard. “I haven’t called time-out,” she reminded him.

 

“I don’t want you to. This time we’re doing it as two vampires.”

 

A shiver of delight went through her. It stopped cold when he picked her up and shoved her against the wall. “For vampires, there’s no such thing as too hard, too fast or too depraved.”

 

In that one swift movement Spike had managed to line them up so precisely, that if either one of them took so much as a deep breath, he would be inside her. Except...

 

“Um, Spike?”

 

“Mmmm?” He was nuzzling her neck, but she thought the noise meant, he was listening.

 

“Panties.”

 

“Oh, right.” She heard tearing and felt them snap apart in the crotch. The front and back were now only joined at the waist, not unlike her and Spike.

 

Again, Buffy marveled at how he had managed to keep them in perfect alignment with only one arm. His other hand was now under her skirt, and oh my!

 

She wasn’t exactly sure she’d call it depraved, but darn the things he did with those fingers…or was that his?...

 

He removed his fingers and thrust up into her a few times. Buffy never thought she’d like sex standing up, it looked so awkward, but this was really nice.

 

Of course, Spike was really the only one standing. She was sort of piggybacking, but in a full frontal way, and WOW. Now, instead of thrusting into her Spike, had her by the back of the neck and the waist and was riding her up and down on his shaft. It didn’t feel quite as nice, but it was so incredibly sexy that it made up for any lack of stimulation. He was studying her face, reading her reactions.

 

“You want it harder? Faster?” he offered.

 

“I was thinking maybe more depraved.” She made a movement that would have resulted in her flashing her fangs, if she’d had fangs to flash.

 

Buffy was certain she had NEVER seen the expression he wore on his face the moment after she said that. Devilish delight overtook his features as he lifted her up off of him and set her on the sarcophagus.

 

Oh no. Maybe she should have asked for a menu, instead of the house special.

 

“Take off the jacket,” Spike ordered. She complied. Spike gathered up the long tail of the t-shirt she was wearing and tied it into a knot at her waist. “Lose the skirt,” he instructed. Buffy wriggled out of it, and for good measure yanked off the now defunct panties as well.

 

Spike slipped his jeans down past his hips. Buffy’s toes curled in anticipation. She wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but so far the prep hadn’t hinted at anything dangerous.

 

He took her by the waist. “Don’t worry, Luv. I’ve got you,” he assured her, as he lifted her and she began to topple sideways.

 

“Spike, what exactly are we doing?”

 

“69”

 

“Standing up?”

 

Spike turned her over. “I’m standing up, you’re upside down.”

 

“Holy freak, Spike. I can’t do this, all the blood will rush to my head.” That wasn’t a problem for actual vampires.

 

“You’re heart’s stronger than a horse’s. Trust me, you got this.”

 

“Why can’t you be the upside down one?” Buffy was in a minor panic.

 

“Cause I’m taller. Didn’t you take physics in high school?”

 

“I don’t know about this.” Buffy’s protests faded into “Ahhhmmmm…” Spike had tired of talking and put her cunny where his mouth was.

 

She felt a little light-headed, and her face felt very warm, which was probably going to be a benefit to him when she; she felt around for the promised family jewels. Spike squirmed a little when she gave them a friendly fondle.

 

Buffy had no idea how this was going to work, but she reached for his cock and took the head of it in her mouth. He thrust his hips towards her, and she had a very hard time not catching her teeth on the rim as he lifted her up.

 

He did this with other vampires? With fangs? How crazy was that? OMG! Did he have his fangs out while he was eating her out upside down? That was the scariest, hottest image…

 

Buffy wasn’t sure if she should sort out her legs or her mouth first. It was all very distracting, though she could see that it had great possibilities if she could get the hang of it. She bent her knees and placed her thighs loosely on either side of Spike’s head. His curls tickled against them. It felt so damn good.

 

Now that that was taken care of, and Spike clearly had no problem supporting her, she focused her attention on his erection. She couldn’t see much, but she could tell by the way it jerked and the feel of the veins that he was indeed vamped out.

 

ZING! Sure enough, when she gave a suck, the tingles began to spread over her tongue. This electric vamp semen was borderline addictive. She wanted more.

 

Spike worked them up and down energetically for a minute or two until he felt her thighs clamping around her head. He slowed both the movements of his tongue and the speed of their pumping.

 

He felt her teeth gently nibbling and tickling the end of his cock. He pushed her down a half an inch. His shaft slipped deeper into her mouth. She didn’t wriggle or push him away so he lowered her further. He had to take his mouth from her to gasp, as he lowered her a bit more. Buffy tugged on the base of his cock, like a diver asking for more line, so he lowered her another half of an inch.

 

He could feel that he was at the back of her throat, so he lifted her up. She tugged again to be let down. Again and again, they repeated the motion, until he feared his knees would give out and he staggered back against the wall. As glorious as it was to be buried deep in her hot, eager mouth, he didn’t want this over yet.

 

He gave her pussy one more luxurious hungry kiss before he nudged her loose and brought her upright. Buffy was flushed and dizzy, which was not at all unpleasant. It went very well with the dancing sparkles of vamp cum on her tongue and the matching tingles in her cunny.

 

“Your turn.” He tugged her towards the back of the crypt.

 

“For what?”

 

“To stand.” He laid down on top of a coffin letting his head loll back over the end.

 

“I can’t straddle that thing.”

 

“Don’t have to, just straddle my face.” He yanked her towards him.

 

Buffy parted her thighs, and Spike plunged in. This was a new angle on things, a nice angle, a knees growing weak angle. Buffy put her hands out on his chest to hold herself up. She could feel Spike smiling against her. She liked it.

 

“You know, you’ve got a great smile.” She panted.

 

He nodded, and she liked that very much too. He was all kinds of fun when he was being agreeable.

 

“I’m beginning to appreciate the benefits of putting a smile on your face.”

 

Spike very much appreciated her putting her “vertical smile” on his face. He loved making her weak-kneed and gasping for breath. He loved to feel her come. He didn’t much like his damp cock growing cold as it stood at attention, but he knew she was too far gone to address the situation. She’d be that much hotter and wetter to fuck, once she’d had another screaming orgasm. Maybe he should go more for a roaring orgasm, or moaning? Moaning it was!

 

He changed speed, downshifting, lots of contact, but slower motion.

 

“Ahhh..” She sank down against his mouth.

 

He slowed further still. A very definite moan escaped from her lips.

 

Buffy felt awesome, but also slightly confused. She knew he was there. She acknowledged a throbbing soft pleasure between her legs, but she couldn’t discern any actual movement. All she could sense was pleasure pulsing into her, coaxing her towards some dark velvety hole that she imagined herself slipping into.

 

His tongue against her clit, turned from velvet to silk as he flipped the tip of it over and wiggled the smooth backside of it against her. He did it only for a moment. She hadn’t even figured out what he’d done before the sensation was gone and all she felt was the pulsing. He did it again, and just as quickly it ended.

 

Buffy wanted it back. He was such a tease, such a fucking hot, sexy as hell, tongue wiggling, tease. She pushed up a bit on her tiptoes, but Spike held her hips tight and wouldn’t let her move.

 

With vampire strength, handcuffs would have been redundant. Any super strength Buffy might have had, as either vampire or Slayer, was reduced to nothing by this pleasure overload. She felt the silky wiggle again and before he could stop Buffy thrust against him...and felt him smile. Spike was nice to look at, but the term killer smile had a whole new meaning when it came to him.

 

She felt the silky slip against her once more and tried to follow it with her hips. It became a heated game of cat and mouse between her clitty and his tongue. When it was time for the game to be over, Spike loosened his grip on her hips and let her direct the action. She took over, panting and moaning, encouraging him with both sound and movement.

 

It was so erotic, that he felt drops slipping out the end of his cock and dripping in a cool tickle, down the length of him. It was going to feel so good, in about 60 seconds, when he slammed into her hot wet pussy and drove into her heat. The thought made him smile, and his smile was just what she needed to get the job done.

 

“Dammit, Spike!” The words were harsh but her tone was wistful and soft. She collapsed against him, her vertical smile beaming against his horizontal one.

 

He gave her a few pants worth of time to enjoy the thrill, before he lifted them up, bent her over the coffin and plunged into her from behind. He was buried deep in her heat, and since she was pretty much numb up front, the pressure of his erection thrusting into her and his balls smacking against her from behind was crazy good and more than welcome.

 

All her attention moved two inches south of where it had been previously focused, and the slow velvet pulse of a moment ago was replaced with shocking cold thrusts that had her gasping and clawing at the smooth surface of the coffin. Spike stopped her fumbling by grabbing her hips and holding them fast while he rammed into her over and over again.

 

She would have been calling out his name, but she couldn’t seem to remember what it was. Words were coming out of his mouth that might have been curse words, or he might have been saying her name. It didn’t matter as long as he kept fucking her in this relentless pounding rhythm. No wonder he liked being a vampire, this was glorious. 

 

An unholy noise reverberated in the crypt. It might have been him, it might have been her, it might have been the two of them together, but it definitely coincided with the explosion of light and power she felt inside her when he came. This wasn’t just the amazing surge of shooting tingles she’d felt earlier, this was a full power vampire orgasm, hopped up on Slayer blood.

 

Buffy was pretty sure that if she’d been anyone other than the Slayer (or in this case, the Slayer playing at being a vampire) her hips would have cracked from the force. But to her, it felt like a perfectly aimed punch, hitting home with a satisfying smack. She could feel the transfer of power from her opponent, except she didn’t go stumbling anywhere, Spike held her tight against him until his climax was over, and the roaring had stopped. It was only when his cock was done heaving and was merely panting out the last drops of cum, that he let her go.

 

Buffy didn’t want anything to do with the blood drinking part of being a vampire, but the sex was amazing! Maybe she could sign up as a vegetarian vampire or something.

 

Spike pulled his jeans up, fastened them and looked at naked, dazed, Buffy. She looked slightly wasted and very content. He wiped his face on the arm of his shirt, picked her up and kissed her crooked lips.

 

“I love your smile,” she said when their lips parted.

 

“Fangs and all?”

 

“Fangs...no fangs...up here...down there… I just love your smile.”

 

She was loopy from another round of great sex. He wondered if she knew what she was saying and if she had any idea of the effect it had on him? Telling someone you love their smile was tantamount to telling them you liked to see them happy. Could she mean that?

 

He wondered if all her threats to make him hurt, to make him miserable, and to make him gone, would come rushing back once her head cleared and her pussy stopped throbbing.

 

“You have a delicious quim,” he told her.

 

“Is that what you chaps call it?”

 

“Only the nice ones, we have other names for the not so pretty and much less tasty ones.” He carried her to the steps leading down into his lair.

 

“No one’s ever told me I had a pretty quim.” She lolled lazily.

 

“Every part of you is pretty.”

 

Buffy didn’t recall the “after sex” being like this with other men. “After” was when the not so nice things happened, like them turning into killers, or telling her she was clingy, or that she wasn’t human enough. It hadn’t been like this, with strong arms around her and lovely words and Spike tucking her into his comfortable bed that was all cozy and warm. If this was vampire sex, it was better than people sex.

 

She watched dreamily as Spike undressed. He came to the bed and pulled off the t-shirt she was still wearing.

 

“You’re bloody beautiful Buffy Summers,” he said, slipping into bed beside her, sliding up against her.

 

She liked this role. She liked being beautiful Buffy Summers, the way she had been all night. She liked the feel of his wonderful smile against the back of her neck. She didn’t want to time-out. She never wanted to time-out of any of this.

 

Buffy relaxed into sleep, slipping into that dark velvety hole that had been just out of reach when Spike was kissing her, pleasuring her, devouring her. It was here now, warm and soft and lovely. She drifted down into it like a snowflake, twinkling gently, then melting into a perfect, glistening drop.


	5. Rhyme and Reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a nap, they wake up with some perspective...and feelings. A playful poetry slam ends is an inevitable goodbye.

Chapter 5: Rhyme and Reason

 

Buffy woke, wiping sweat from her upper lip. The room was dark, save for the flickering light of the two short candles Spike had left burning in case she needed to find her way to the bathroom. She wondered how she could feel so warm in a place so cave-like, then remembered the electric blanket.

 

Spike appeared very comfortable snuggled into his bed. He didn’t look like someone she should be afraid of or something she should want to kill. There was no hint of malice on his face, no smug knowing smile, or curled snarling lip. He looked right, in this place, as if it made all the sense in the world that he had a cozy underground chamber to retire to when he was done with his brash and swagger for the night.

 

Buffy leaned closer and pressed her jaw to his temple. He was warm. Human warm. Did it bring him sweeter dreams, she wondered, to be warm like this? Did it help him forget he was a cold blooded killer? She wondered if he was dreaming of his boyhood, or a sunny day...the not killing kind.

 

Maybe this lair was Spike’s personal role play. Big Bad vampire, bane of the local demons and pain in the ass to the Scoobies, goes home at dawn and pretends that he’s a real man, warm between his smooth sheets, and tonight with a woman beside him.

 

Buffy didn’t think she’d like waking up next to a cold body. Animated, Spike was so lively, she forgot he was undead. A cool, still body would have been alarming.

 

It struck her again, how familiar it felt, being close to Spike. The way he smelled, tasted and sounded hadn’t been shocking to her, hadn’t felt new. If anything, there was an added sense of satisfaction in the discovery that he tasted the way she had known he would. The sound of his breathing, even when it came in grunts, gasps or pants was familiar, rather than jarring.

 

It allowed her to override her Slayer senses, to push aside the warning signals and redirect her elevated heart beat and rushing blood to fuel passion rather than fury. All night long she’d been riding the rocking see-saw of arousal as her chemistry tipped back and forth, fight/fuck, fight/ fuck, over and over again.

 

The tingling vamp semen HAD been a surprise! She could honestly say nothing about the evening had been a disappointment, and there had been several revelations. Somewhere in the night, she’d realized that she and Spike were friends. She trusted him, and he liked her. When had that happened? How had it managed to slip in between the insults and threats?

 

She felt safer in his crypt tonight than she did at the Magic Box, or at home, where lately, she’d felt judged and found wanting. Nothing here was whispering expectations to her. Spike wasn’t telling her that she wasn’t doing enough.

 

She knew that he’d only been referring to inverted sex, but when Spike had told her “you got this” it had felt ridiculously good. She loved when he’d called her a “bossy little chit.” Buffy felt that pretty much summed her up!

 

She didn’t know how she’d sum up Spike. The epithets that had become habit to her, didn’t fit anymore. Neutered vampire was definitely a misnomer. Even so, she couldn’t simply discount all their history, or conveniently reframe it, because they’d had sex a few times. This didn’t change everything, but it seemed like it should change something. 

 

Buffy wondered if it was morning yet, and if so, how she was going to retrieve her car and get home. She wasn’t sure she could cobble together anything like a decent outfit from her remaining clothes and her shoes were gone altogether. She laughed to herself, it had been worth it.

 

She felt a bit sore and was pretty sure she had some bumps and bruises, but no worse than after an average night slaying. Predictably, after a night of rough and tumble with a vampire, she was hungry. She decided to go up top and see what Spike had to eat. She located the discarded t-shirt he’d stripped from her and yanked it over her head. Through the dim light, she found her way to the ladder.

 

……………………………

 

Spike felt Buffy get out of bed. He registered her presence moving further away and wondered if he should go after her. It was a reflexive thought, chasing Buffy was, after all, what he did. How else was he ever going to be close to her? By her coming to him. By her wanting them together. His brain provided the responses as if they were the most natural thing in the world, as though they could somehow apply to a relationship as screwed up as his and Buffy’s.

 

He wasn’t going to go after her. No point. If she wanted to go, she would go, and if she wanted to stay, she would stay. That was the way it always had been and always would be. Thinking it could ever be any other way had been insanity on his part. You can’t make someone want to be with you.

 

He sat up and reached for the bedside lamp, a pretty thing left behind by Harmony, who proved the point. Harmony had done her best, to win Spike over. Her desire for his attention and affection had been as sincere as his for Buffy’s. Harmony would have done anything for him, and it would never have been enough.

 

He’d had plenty of sex with Harmony, he didn’t love her, but she was pretty and willing. Maybe that’s what this was for Buffy. He was pretty and willing and she had an itch that needed scratching. Maybe tomorrow, Buffy would kick him in the head and say she’d never wanted him, and everything would fall back into place.

 

Neither his head nor heart smarted at the thought. They were used to it. He hadn’t been anything more than a tool to Buffy since the chip, and a tool was only taken out of the box when there was work to be done.

 

Though she’d used his body often enough for thug work, this was the first time his cock had been called to action. His cock was less likely to gracefully accept not being needed anymore. His head understood why Buffy would never involve herself with him, his heart knew a relationship between them was impossible, but so far his body hadn’t come up with a single reason why they shouldn’t do this again sometime.

 

…………….

 

Buffy had to admit, Spike was full of surprises, and not all of them disgusting. Going through his food cabinet was certainly interesting. She wondered if he had a medicine cabinet downstairs that she could check out before she left. She might have felt guilty for even considering such an invasion of privacy, had she not already known that Spike had been invading hers, at least as far as her underwear drawer, and laundry hamper went. She was definitely owed some snooping opportunities of her own.

 

She noticed a theme to his cupboard: crunchy and spicy. Made sense, those were the two things most lacking in blood, though the thought of him adding Sriracha to his blood was pretty disgusting. That image was going to haunt her mind every time she reached for a bottle of it. Shudder

 

Pretzels, tortilla chips, wasabi peas….cookies! “We have a winner!” Buffy grabbed the box and did a victory dance. She doubted there was a chance of him having milk to go with them, but she felt duty bound to check. The refrigerator held orange juice, blood, pudding cups and chocolate milk! Score!

 

Buffy made a pocket for the food, by pulling up the bottom of the too big t-shirt. As she made her way to the ladder she noticed soft warm light coming through the entrance, Spike must be up. He had a lovely view of her naked feet, calves, thighs and ass as she stepped down the ladder and into his lair. Now Spike was up in more ways than one.

 

“Hope you don’t mind, I sort of helped myself.” She gave a little shrug as she approached the bed.

 

“Not at all.” He was enjoying taking in the sight of her, and now there were snacks as well. This just got better and better.

 

“I didn’t mean to wake you up, I got too hot.” She said it without a hint of innuendo. She set the snacks on the bed.

 

“I can see how that might be a problem.” Not that Spike would ever consider her too hot.

 

“Do you mind if I turn this down?” She motioned to the control for the blanket.

 

“Be my guest.” Spike’s eyes roamed over her pretty little bottom as she bent over to reach the dial.

 

“There, that ought to do it.” Buffy turned back to him with a smile, then yanked the t-shirt off and crawled onto the bed.

 

He wondered if this was a fever dream, brought on by the blanket being set too high. If it was, he didn’t care, it was the best dream he’d ever had. The mattress sank under her weight. Buffy sat up next to him and leaned across his body to reach for the snacks. No, this was definitely not a dream; this was a flesh and blood woman.

 

“Good god, do you know what you’re doing to me?” he said in a nearly pained tone, slipping his hands over her.

 

She purposely took her time stretching for the cookie box and bottle of chocolate milk. “I have a pretty good idea, but it might not hurt to show me.”

 

“Then none of this is accidental?”

 

“No, but it helped that you had cookies and milk. If all I’d found was Funyans and blood up there, it might have killed the mood.”

 

“I’ll remember to keep my cupboard properly stocked.” He made it a personal vow. He tweaked her breast as she slid back into position beside him.

 

“Do you actually eat butterscotch pudding?” She quirked her brow at him. Not only did she think it was disgusting, but it was the last thing she’d expected to find in a vampire’s fridge.

 

“Those aren’t for me.” He seemed offended at the idea. “They’re Dawn’s.”

 

Buffy knew that Dawn hung out with Spike sometimes. As much as she didn’t like the idea of it, in practice, it worked out quite well. She knew her sister was safe with him, and Dawn didn’t feel like she was being babysat when she was with Spike.

 

“Yeah, about that…” Buffy began.

 

Oh no, here it comes: what is my sister doing hanging out with a vampire?…

 

“Thanks, for letting her come here so much. I really appreciate it. I know she’s not always fun to be around, and…”

 

“You’re welcome,” Spike answered quickly and definitively. Though his first thought had been to brush it off and tell her no “thank yous” were necessary, he didn’t. He guessed it took a lot for Buffy to say “thank you” to him, and he wanted to acknowledge that.

 

Buffy looked a little surprised. She’d expected him to deflect her words of gratitude. After all, that’s what she and Spike did; they didn’t talk, they sparred with words. It had always been more about the parry and thrust than about communication.

 

Usually neither let the other finish a complete sentence before they were responding with their own jibe, aimed at what they thought the other might have been about to say. She felt at a loss as to how to respond to his “You’re welcome”, so she just smiled. Maybe she didn’t always need to have the last word.

 

She took a few chugs from the bottle of chocolate milk, which she guessed, was also compliments of Dawn’s snacking habits and less a statement on Spike’s. She went to set the bottle down on the bedside table when Spike stopped her arm.

 

He picked up the book that had been lying there, not wanting her to put the sweating bottle on top of it.

 

Ah, here was another snoop-worthy subject. What did Spike read in bed?

 

He went to tuck it behind his pillow but she protested. “I want to see!”

 

“I doubt it.” He chuckled. “Not your sort of thing, I’ll wager.”

 

The book was old. The cover was plain. It didn’t look like a sci-fi or horror novel, not that she really had any idea whether or not he’d read that sort of thing. Other than People magazine, which she’d seen him read, she couldn’t think of any reading material that she’d associate with Spike.

 

“Hey! It might be my sort of thing. I’m very versatile,” Buffy said with a sniff.

 

“That you are.” He readily agreed.

 

“I read all kinds of stuff.” Lately, most of that stuff had been bills, small home repair books, and pamphlets on grief, but, she’d been known to read!

 

“It’s poetry.”

 

“I like poetry!” Buffy confirmed. “I’ve even written some poems. I did one in third grade, about an apple tree. I won a prize for it and got to read it in front of the whole class.” Here was a woman who literally had the world on her shoulders and had been through hell, death, and misery, yet she managed to hold onto her honest pride in a childhood accomplishment.

 

It’s what he loved about her. Buffy wasn’t full of herself, though she had every right to be. He was beneath her and she didn’t hesitate to remind him, but that had to do with his status as a demon, not because she thought she was high and mighty.

 

Spike took her face in his hands and gave her a gentle kiss.

 

“What was that for?”

 

“Because you’re wonderful.”

 

She flushed a bit, then said, “Thank you,” accepting the compliment gracefully.

 

Spike slipped his arms around her and pulled her towards him. She awkwardly attempted to settle herself across his lap. “We have a problem here.”

 

The problem was Spike’s erection, which was very prominent and, Buffy noticed, very warm!

 

“Doesn’t need to be a problem.”

 

“I didn’t say it was a big problem,” She said slipping her hand down.

 

“Hey now…!”

 

“Ok, it’s big, just the problem part isn’t...so problematic ” His skin was warm and silky smooth beneath her palm. It would probably feel pretty fantastic if it was inside of her right now, she thought, running her hand up and down the shaft.

 

“You’re making it bigger,” he informed her.

 

“Yeah, I kinda noticed.” She also noticed droplets of anticipation collecting at the tip. It was such a lovely, eager erection, it would be a shame to waste it.

 

She expected she was producing drops of anticipation of her own.

 

“Buffy...” Spike took in a sharp breath then forgot what he’d intended to say as she moved to straddle him.

 

Spike reached around past her butt and into her slit. It was warm and wet, but he wanted to make it slick. She frowned a little at the removal of his finger. Her frown turned to a look of concern as his hand moved to her breast. 

 

He didn’t know why she was so fidgety about her breasts. They were lovely. Surely they’d had attention lavished on them before. Her boyfriend couldn’t have been that much of a fool.

 

Spike cupped her breast. His head moved forward, mouth open, making clear his intention. He waited half a second to see if she’d shove him away. Buffy waited too, unsure of her own inclination.

 

Her heart had begun to race but she was uncertain if it was in anticipation or panic. She closed her eyes and deferred to instinct. Either she would push him away or...Buffy pulled his head forward and shivered as his mouth closed over her nipple. Spike’s lips were gentle, his tongue firm. She kept her eyes closed, and took in the glorious sensation.

 

His gentle kiss gave way to hunger. When he drew her nipple into his mouth, she felt a tug in her womb that frightened her. The night had been a thrilling roller coaster ride, hands, lips, tongues, fingers and slicker, slippery body parts in every delightful combination. Soul-searing kisses and mind-blowing orgasms were not a problem, it was all good fun. This was different.

 

When Spike took her breast in his mouth, it didn’t feel like a game anymore, it stirred something in her core, a place she wasn’t sure she wanted to be touched. It was one thing to be pleasured and thrilled, but this felt intensely personal. The disquieting tug inside reminded her that she was a very human woman and that this act of pleasure could mean so much more…

 

Her eyes flew open. No. This was too much. She needed to get her bearings. She needed to regain control. She focused on a spot on the ceiling. She focused on the unlit torch on the wall. In a moment she would look down, and she would see it was nothing special. Just Spike, kissing her breast. One look would defuse the intensity, would make it simple again.

 

She looked down. Spike’s eyes were closed in reverent hunger, his brow barely furrowed with focused need. This was clearly more than a mouthful of soft flesh to him. His hunger appeared both holy and predatory. Her womb clenched at the sight.

 

She’d seen him hesitate, anticipating rejection, but he’d pressed on. Why? Was it because he couldn’t resist or because he knew SHE couldn’t resist the pull once it started, and he wanted her to feel a need for him inside, more elemental than pleasure.

 

Buffy watched him watch her, as his mouth unlatched from one side and moved to the other. He looked up at her through his lashes, making sure she saw him moving his hand, his mouth, lips reaching, closing, sucking then drawing something out of her that she didn’t want to give. It felt like permission, but permission for what? She’d already let him fuck her and he was going to fuck her again.

 

He knew that. He didn’t need to ask. So why was he doing this? Instead of taking what he already knew he could have? Instead of shoving up inside her, where her pussy was already weeping for him, he was doing this.

 

Buffy needed to see it, to watch his hungry face, and see the shape of his lips, even as she felt every suck, nibble and tweak deep within her. She needed to see what it did to him, to hunger like that, and not have her say no.

 

Spike sensed it. He read Buffy’s heart rate, temperature and muscle tension. As a vampire, it came automatically, but he could follow it with his mind if he cared to. Right now he was doing both, his vampire senses reading and reacting, his mind assessing. He recognized her arousal, it was what brought them together this night. It had made her reckless and careless, but now it made her hyper-aware.

 

He wondered why this was different from everything they’d done. He’d tasted her, fucked her, cum down her throat, but none of those things had touched her, the way he was touching her now. He watched her face carefully as he moved from one breast to the other. She looked mesmerized and powerful...ageless.

 

Spike knew he was reaching her now, that she’d allowed herself to be vulnerable to something beyond than the whims of her lust and his hunger. Unwittingly, he had done something dangerous.

 

Buffy saw the fearful question in his eye when he looked up at her. His suction weakened just a little, and his hand moved more hesitantly where it kneaded the soft flesh. He was preparing to move away and suddenly she didn’t want him to. She wanted him there, so she could feel the tugging inside her and not be afraid of it. She wanted to know what was waiting on the other side of this terrible sweet pleasure and singing need.

 

Buffy’s hands went to his head. She felt his muscles tighten, felt him pulling back, felt him moving to unlatch. She pulled him in, cradling his head, working her fingers into his curls, pushing her breast forward into his widening mouth.

 

Spike knew what she wanted now, he didn’t need his brain to assess it. She wanted him to unleash his yearning and take her in, to show her he was greedy to have her inside of him.

 

Did she understand that? He wondered, even as his brain stepped aside and let need take over. Did women ever understand that it wasn’t just pleasure, it wasn’t just a place to put their cocks that men wanted?

 

Yes, they longed to be let in, pulled in...but they yearned for this too, this cradling embrace, this most fundamental act of mouth on teat. It had been his first urge, as an infant, when he’d come screaming into life, and the need was still there; the need to know that a woman would hold him close, and let him suck the sweetest truest love out of her, right there...where her heart was.

 

This meant more to him than fucking her, as glorious as that was. He could feel something building in her, more substantial than the glassy dance of titillated nerve endings. He moved back to the other breast, kissing it sweetly, licking the tip, making love to it and delighting in the strength of her fingers in his hair and on his neck as she pulled his head close again and again.

 

His hand pushed between her thighs, fingers searching for their way in, thrusting up, deep into her. Buffy forced herself down onto his hand. She was sure that if he went just a tiny bit deeper, the tip of his finger and the tip of his tongue would collide and he would hold everything she was, between them, dancing and vibrating in suspension.

 

Grinding onto his hand and holding his head down, Buffy protested with pouty whimpers when he pulled free and tore away from her breast. No no no nonononono….

 

Then he was inside her, his cock full and thick. She ground down on it, trying to make it tickle that deep place where his finger had been a moment before. She worked her way over him, again and again, needing to be touched, the way he had touched her.

 

Spike moved beneath her adjusting the angle and the depth. She roared at him when she found it again, forcing herself onto him. When she had gotten as far down as she could go, he thrust, hard and slow, pushing a surge of blood forward, making the head of his cock bloom just enough to touch her….there.

 

“Oh god yes. How did you do that. Do it--oh god Spike--do it again.”

 

He had never heard that voice from her, never had dared to hope he would.

 

“Again.” Buffy swallowed and held very still, afraid to breathe, lest it break the contact.

 

Spike pushed into her again, sending a swelling surge of blood into his cock, making it just a little harder, a little thicker and wider so it touched her where she was begging to be touched.

 

“Oh my god Spike, could you like, just stay there forever, doing that?”

 

“Maybe not forever, Luv, but a few more.” He swelled inside her, causing her to emit a breathy whimper.

 

“How are you even doing that?”

 

“Not exactly sure,” he admitted with a tiny laugh.

 

“Oh damn, laugh like that again,” Buffy instructed. She hadn’t thought it could feel any...more...than it had, but when he laughed, it did. Somehow the biggest feeling she’d ever had, got bigger when he chuckled.

 

“Make me laugh, Buffy.” he teased her.

 

“Spike…” she protested, with a giggle.

 

“Come on, Buffy.” He swelled within her, “Make me laugh.”

 

“Are you ticklish?”

 

“Find out.”

 

But she didn’t want to tickle him. He would wiggle, and that might alter the point of their connection and she desperately didn’t want that. “Um, wait, I got it. I know a poem.”

 

“Your apple tree poem was funny?”

 

“No, shhh...There once was a girl from New Zealand…”

 

Spike began to chuckle. So his girl knew some limericks, did she?

 

“Mmm, you’re an easy audience.” Buffy gasped appreciatively.

 

“Go on, I don’t think I’ve heard this one.”

 

Buffy cleared her throat, just as she had back in third grade…

 

“There once was a girl from New Zealand,

Who complained of no sexual feeling.

A skeptic named Boris,

Licked her clitoris,

And she had to be peeled from the ceiling!”

 

That got more than a chuckle from Spike. He laughed out loud, not only at the wit of the rhyme but at Buffy’s smug face as she recited it.

 

“I have one for you,” he told her.

 

“There once was a fellow named Sweeny,

Who spilled some gin on his weenie,

And just to be smooth,

He added vermouth,

And slipped his best girl a martini!”

 

He hadn’t realized that he’d been bouncing her to the rhythm as he recited.

 

Buffy had definitely noticed and liked it.

 

“There once was a man named Green

Who invented a wanking machine...” Buffy bounced herself merrily on Spike’s erection.

“On the 99th stroke.” She gave an energetic bop.

“The fucking thing broke..”

 

Spike sucked in a hissing breath of pleasure.

 

“And whipped his balls into cream!”

 

“Here’s one for you,” Spike told her. “JUST for you,” He punctuated it with a thrust for good measure.

 

“There once was a Slayer named Buffy,

Whose demeanor could be rather stuffy,

She went out with Spike…”

 

“Watch it mister,” she warned, even as she kept time with movements of her hips.

 

“Found a limerick she liked…” He got ready to drive home the final line. “And they fucked till her breath was all puffy.”

 

Buffy could see Spike was agitated, but in a good way. “Think you can handle one more?” She checked.

 

“Keep it coming,” was his reply, since they were being witty about it.

 

“A handsome vampire named Spike!

Told his date ‘I have something you’ll like.’,

He took out his cock, which was hard as a rock…”

 

“And she rode it all night like a bike,” he finished for her.

 

“Yeah, something like that.” The time for rhyming was over.

 

She didn’t ride it like a bike exactly. Well, maybe a bike on a very bumpy road, with some potholes, and maybe a few railroad tracks to go over, and then definitely some out of control steering, and some spinning out, and then the bike flipping over so its wheels were up in the air spinning….

 

Buffy found herself on her back with a determined, hot, sexy vampire doing his best to pump her tires full of air…

 

She liked warm Spike. That’s not to imply that she hadn’t liked cool Spike too, but this was a nice switch up. It was kind of neat to have a boyfriend with temperature control...a partner...PARTNER with temperature control.

 

Speaking of control, he’d done a commendable job of holding it together during their poetry slam, and he was doing a good job now, but Buffy was ready for the big finish.

 

“Spike, vamp out. I want to feel your sizzling...vampire...cum...” she said, digging her nails into his back, and sinking her teeth into his neck.

 

He did as he was told. And he did it very well.

 

A few minutes later, while Buffy was munching cookies, Spike dipped his finger into her pussy to collect some jizz to spread on her nipples. “That’s kind of nice,” she said, with a twitch at the sensation. She was a little surprised that her body had any feeling left in it at all. She figured that they’d pretty much maxed out her nerve endings.

 

He licked the tip of her breast, adding to the tingling sensation. Their eyes met, but neither of them said anything. Everything was nice right now. Whatever happened, whatever any of it meant or didn’t mean, they’d figure out another time...or maybe they would just leave it.

 

He gave her nipple one hard sweet suck before releasing it and laying his head on her belly.

 

“I hope you don’t mind that I’m chugging milk out of the bottle.”

 

“I’ll put it on your tab.”

 

“I had fun tonight.”

 

“That’s a lovely way of putting it.”

 

“But I probably need to go…”

 

Yes, of course, she did.

 

Spike sat up, “You eat your cookies, I’ll go fetch your car.”

 

“You’re not going to make me do the walk of shame?”

 

“You have nothing to be ashamed of. Besides, what do you take me for?” He was pretty sure she was teasing, but how could he know? This was all new. This wasn’t the Buffy he was used to, but he thought this was the real Buffy. She wasn’t acting out of character, it’s just that she was acting this way towards HIM. Previously, any teasing she did was always at his expense.

 

“Maybe I should get you some clothes?”

 

“I have a spare set in the trunk. It’s a Slayer thing. Be prepared. I tend to go through clothes pretty quickly.”

 

Of course, she had a change of clothes. She knew what she was about. She’d had a stake in her little purse, clothes in the car. Buffy didn’t do things on the fly, unprepared. Then what was THIS?

 

Spike pulled on his clothing and ran a comb through his hair. He could feel the curls spring free and scowled. If he ran into anyone on the way to her car, they’d think he was a bloody ponce. He had no time to fuss with it, not if he wanted to be back before Sunrise, besides, she liked it this way. It’s how he wanted her to remember him, and their night.

 

“I won’t be long,” he said with a nod.

 

Buffy watched him go, then took a survey of the space. Rumpled sheets, some stray cookie crumbs, discarded clothing, the smell of sex in the air. It was almost over. She was sad, but at least she’d gotten more than Cinderella did before her magical night came to an end. All poor Cindy got for her troubles, was a broken shoe. Buffy had some spectacular memories...and maybe one big secret to keep.

 

Cinderella’s prince had come looking for her and she, consequently, became the most powerful woman in the kingdom. Buffy stretched, she already WAS the most powerful woman. Her prince was off collecting her carriage. Neither of them cared a toss about her shoes.

 

Buffy’s gaze caught on the little book that Spike had been holding before. Their energetic lovemaking had freed it from its place behind the pillows.

She’d go looking for that medicine cabinet after she took a look at this.

 

“Put out my eyes, and I can see you still,

Slam my ears to, and I can hear you yet;

And without any feet can go to you;

And tongueless, I can conjure you at will.

Break off my arms, I shall take hold of you

And grasp you with my heart as with a hand;

Arrest my heart, my brain will beat as true;

And if you set this brain of mine afire,

Then on my blood-stream I yet will carry you”

 

Wow. That was creepy-powerful, and unnervingly Spike-like. Buffy checked the author. Rainer Maria Rilke

 

“Nothing like a little light bedtime reading Spike,” she said to the open air.

 

Spike was intense, that was nothing new. She was pretty sure it was the only way he could be. His demon nature craved contrasts of texture, spicy flavors, and words that leaped off the page and left bruises where they’d grabbed hold of you.

 

But, he could be soft too, with a warm bed, soft blankets, sweet smelling bubble bath and his going out into the night to get her car for her, while she lay in bed having milk and cookies.

 

And, he could be confusing. She’d seen him hesitate a few times in the night. It was something he didn’t often do, but he’d wanted to be sure he was getting it right. Getting it right had mattered more than just getting it.

 

And grasp you with my heart as with my hand…

 

That was pretty much Spike, summed up in a line. If Buffy was a bossy little chit, Spike was someone who grabbed onto things with everything he was and every bit of his strength.

 

She knew he had feelings for her. He’d out and out told her, to her face. She’d rejected him and his feelings, yet, she had come to bed with him. She guessed it wasn’t fair, but she wouldn’t be here tonight if she didn’t know he cared if she didn’t know that she was safe with him, body and soul.

 

Arrest my heart, my brain will beat as true…

 

What must those words mean, to him, who actually had an arrested heart? How many times had she reminded him that his heart didn’t beat, that he couldn’t feel, that the things he thought were feelings were meaningless simply because they were his, and he didn’t count?

 

She’d said it to protect herself. It wouldn’t do to get soft and have empathy for the other side. It wouldn’t do, to see demons as human, or worthy, or real the way she and her friends were real. It just wouldn’t do. Did Spike understand that it wasn’t personal?

 

Buffy’s face crumpled. What if he came down that ladder right now and told her, “It’s been great, and don’t take this personally...but…”

 

This night had been personal. It wasn’t a grand declaration of love or the start of a great romance, but it didn’t have to be that, in order to mean something. She knew how she would feel if he told her it meant nothing, that it didn’t count because it was HER.

 

Buffy hadn’t meant to hurt Spike. It wasn’t like that. She wasn’t a mean person, did he understand? She didn’t do it to hurt him, she did it to keep him in his place. She needed him, to not be where she was. 

 

And if you set this brain of mine afire,

Then on my blood-stream I yet will carry you

 

Fire and blood were death and life to a vampire. Many times she’d set his brain on fire, with harsh words, insults, and threats. Why did he still like her? Why did he still carry her on his bloodstream? Spike wasn’t stupid, surely he must have tried to erase her from his mind, if only out of self-protection.

 

He bought bubble bath because the scent reminded him of her. It was ridiculously romantic, as romantic as stealing her underwear was...creepy. Yeah, there was that. Buffy knew it was just a guy thing. Riley had kept a pair of her underwear. Of course, he hadn’t had to steal them. That was the difference, and it was different. It was always different when it was Spike.

 

She would have to give all of this up. She tucked the book back behind the pillow. She would have to give this night up, because it was Spike, and that made it different. Tonight had been self-indulgent. She’d allowed herself a sexual extravagance that would have to tide her over until...She didn’t know for how long, or what she was waiting for.

 

She didn’t know who she was waiting for.

 

Spike returned with her bag of clothes. He looked uncertain as he handed them to her. Should he leave her alone, give her privacy to dress, or could he stay here, watching, claiming intimacy for a few minutes more?

 

“Thanks.” She took the bag from him, with something like dread in her stomach. She dressed slowly, because she wasn’t sure yet, how to say goodbye.

 

Spike sat on the bed and brushed some crumbs from the blanket while she stepped into her clothes, hooked her bra, combed her hair.

 

“I guess I’m ready.”

 

He nodded. “You look..good. I mean, no one would know…” His forehead creased. No one would know you’ve been slumming it with a vampire…

 

She wanted to tell him she’d read the poem, and that she understood him, but she didn’t. Not really. She understood that his feelings and passions were strong and unrelenting, but she didn’t know what it was for him to have to live with them, untamed.

 

Spike felt as angry as he ever had, but not at her, not even at himself, or at the damned, idiotic nature of their situation. He felt angry at all his pointless, senseless emotions that ran in torrents but took him nowhere, and powered nothing but resentment. They wore a trench within him, eating their way into his core, but he could not harness them for good because he was told he was incapable of good. His feelings, no matter their depth, no matter his intelligence or his exaggerated strength, accomplished nothing.

 

She was taking her time, and that angered him too. She may as well be gone. If had to happen, let it happen.

 

“Spike.” Buffy came and stood before him.

 

He didn’t want to meet her eye, but he did, of course. He did what he was supposed to do. The time for doing what he wanted to do had ended. Buffy didn’t look angry, she looked sad. Well, that was something.

 

She reached for his hands, and he let her take them. “Are we time-in or time-out, Slayer? I lost track.” He could hear the bitterness in his tone and was shocked at it.

 

No wonder she always doubted him, disliked him. That tone had become his default. When he had feelings he knew he must hide, his voice became sarcastic and biting, and he so often had feelings he needed to hide.

 

“I lost track too. I think we stopped playing the game awhile ago,” she admitted.

 

He brought her hands to his lips and kissed the backs of her fingers. Words were his thing, he was usually good with them, but he couldn’t find them now. Not for this. She was going to go up that ladder and he would never see her come down it again unless she had a bolt aimed at the heart that was so disgusting to her.

 

Buffy wished she could let him know, the thing he wanted to know. She wanted to tell Spike what would come next because then she would know too, but there was nothing there but empty space. She believed this wasn’t the end. She didn’t expect things to go back to the way they’d been, but she couldn’t tell him how things were or what they might become.

 

She wanted to let him know, things weren’t like they were before. She acknowledged that his feelings were real. She didn’t know what she would do with them, or if she could do anything at all, but she knew they were there. He wasn’t a monster.

 

Of course, there was the sex. Walking away from that seemed insane but so did pursuing it.

 

“There once was a girl in Sunnydale,

Who felt she was chasing her tail…” she began.

 

“She’s a beautiful lass, with a right pretty ass.” His eyes were playful.

 

“And a mission she cannot derail.” Buffy reminded the both.

 

That pretty much summed it up. They smiled at each other, and Spike gathered her into a hug, lifting her off her feet for a few seconds.

 

She couldn’t say, Hey Spike, I’m not going to be mean to you anymore, like that was some big thing she was taking away from this, even though it was and even though, she knew it would be huge to him, to be seen and to be treated with a modicum of respect.

 

He smelled the salt of her tears, at least he hoped they were hers; the last thing he wanted to do was cry. He didn’t know why this was so hard, it wasn’t like he was never going to see her again. He’d probably end up patrolling with her tonight or walking Dawn home, after helping her with her bloody math homework.

 

This wasn’t goodbye.

 

There weren’t words for whatever it was, so he kissed her because a kiss could be anything you needed it to be. He could feel her smile, in spite of the salty drop that leaked into their joined mouths. Neither of them knew whose eye it had trickled from.

 

He followed her up the ladder and walked her to the door. He could go no further. The Sun was over the horizon.

 

Buffy could see her car parked where the pavement met the gravel path. She had her clutch purse absurdly tucked under the arm of her sweatshirt.

 

“Sometimes Spike, you really are wonderful.” It might seem like a half-assed compliment to anyone else, but coming from her it was something like a revelation and even more like a confession.

 

“Sometimes Buffy, we’re wonderful together.” It was neither a revelation or a confession. It was a statement of fact, and she was no longer in a position to deny it.

 

“Yeah, we kinda are.” She smiled.

 

Admitting that to each other was enough. It was out there now. A fact. A touchpoint.

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was the result of me saying to some Spuffy friends that I couldn't imagine what could keep Spike and Buffy busy for five whole hours. They told me that they bet I could imagine it if I tried, and here was the result. They generously offered to beta it for me so kudos to moonlight88 and GoSpuffy, without which this story would not have happened.


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